


The Star and His Sky

by usandthemoon



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Character Development, Denial of Feelings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Love Confessions, M/M, New Year's Fluff, Older Louis Tomlinson, Sad Harry Styles, Sad Louis Tomlinson, Sad with a Happy Ending, Younger Harry Styles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:01:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27176254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usandthemoon/pseuds/usandthemoon
Summary: Every day Louis goes to his favourite spot, he talks to his mum and rants about his problems, it's always been an essential part of his daily routine.Except one day that routine is sort of corrupted when a curly-headed boy is already there, sitting on his bench, talking to his sky; looking awfully unhappy whilst doing so.Or a story of a boy who's awfully lost in life, and another boy, who's just as confused.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 12
Kudos: 49





	The Star and His Sky

It's Thursday.

Why must education consist of so many fucking assignments?

Louis is simply exhausted, he's been drifting off to sleep in the middle of lectures all day. His limbs are heavy and his shoulders are slack. He's in dire need of a good chat and then, at last, he can finally indulge in a good night's sleep. As he strolls, the unwelcome breeze tickles the nape of his neck, sinking into the feathery strands of hair that rests there as his fatigued feet trudge down the muddy path.

His Vans are covered in decomposing cantaloupe-coloured leaves and soggy, clumpy dirt, practically leaving his shoes an entirely different shade other than black; it's a shame really, he's personalised them with doodles and all. Though it's not like he'll bother replacing them, they're only shoes after all. However, they are his favourites. Clinging to the weighted straps of his backpack, his sleeves engulf his dainty fingers as they curl around the material. He keeps a firm grip on his bag and breathes out gently.

Late Autumn is painfully evident, with fog swarming around the tall trees and dusting over the rippling water of the lake. It's in sight, the bench. His bench.

Relief instantly heats up his insides. He brushes away any collected droplets of rainwater on the small table and kicks at an abandoned water bottle with his right foot. (Why does nobody respect nature anymore? It's merely shameful how careless people can be, how self-indulged they are. Louis often worries about the wandering foxes and the many flocks of birds that naively eat up people's rubbish. He knows they know no better but to scavenge after anything they can find, yet it is unfortunate. They don't deserve to die at the hands of slothful humans.)

With an overdue sigh, he plonks himself down and rests his feet on the actual seat of the bench, placing his bum on the table. It's cold and slightly damp, nonetheless, he's content where he is. One of the many things Louis loves about the end of the year is its impacts on the sky. Due to the shorter hours of sunlight in the evening, the moon now says hello much earlier than it would in the Spring or Summer. The stars awaken with glee and frost brews on every intricate tree branch. It really is wonderful.

In fact, he can even see the moon right now. The small, albeit, distant crescent is faded, mixing delicately with the dimming blue sky as faint clouds pass by. Louis feels his atoms tingle with that tranquil familiarity, resembling the warmth one would feel when they arrive home after a long trip away. He feels like he's home, a little bit.

"Let me die first or I will die twice!" he shouts, feeling rather poetic in the moment, head snapping up to the sky.

A resting smile takes a hold of his lips. His hands stay put at his sides, his skin reacting casually to the worn away wood of the damp bench he's sat on.

"I'm shattered, mum." He picks at a loose splinter sticking out from the edge of the table. It pokes into the pad of his finger but Louis doesn't flinch. It only tickles. "Can't wait for half-term. I'm going to spend my days fast asleep and my nights wide awake. It'll be the most riveting time of my life," he breathes, a small laugh escaping his throat.

The wind rushes by, whooshing against the shell of his ears.

"Yes, I will study. Don't worry, I'll be a good boy. I'm always a good boy, you know that. Oh, that reminds me actually! Thanks to my generosity Niall has now officially passed his music tech exam. We spent all of last night revising, mum. It was dreadful but he had to pass. He wouldn't let me rest until he was certain he would—honestly, that boy—everything in the world is about success with him. Rightfully so, I suppose. But success is about power and I know nothing of power. You know this, don't you? I'm much more a fanatic of enjoyment. And we both know power doesn't equate to that. So."

A couple of ducks splash about on the outer rim of the lake, catching Louis' peripherals as they dip their heads underwater and maintain balance on the surface with their legs flailing about in the misty air.

The still water shudders and leaves ripples in its wake.

"As insightful as ever," he grins.

Goosebumps hike up the skin of Louis' forearms, running along his biceps and dipping down the back of his neck. He shivers. "I've got to head back," he informs. "One more day of the week is left then I'll be free for the weekend. Salvation!" He hops off the bench and sighs. "And then, _another week_ of torment. But after that, I'll be free for a whole week!"

He should really look into seeking out longer holidays, perhaps there's a petition he could sign. Either way, it's terribly unfair that he only gets one week off after months of hard work, blood, sweat, brutal tears.

"See you tomorrow, love you!" he yells, skipping back down the footpath.

He can hear his tummy rumble as it calls out for food. Maybe he'll grab something from the Chippy before he hops off to bed. Yeah, that sounds perfect.

**

Friday night is here at last.

Louis' wildly excitable because he, Niall, Liam and Zayn are all planning on hitting the town tonight. They're going to go to the coolest of bars and drink the tangiest of drinks. He's buzzing with joy. But before he can scurry off home and begin getting ready—starting with a scorching hot shower, luxury—he needs to make a short stop to lake and have a quick chat. Like always.

It's nearing six o'clock (he stayed behind and scanned the library for a few books relating to his course, for safe measure really) and the sun is already hurrying away, the moon's just waiting to greet him.

Louis' steps are a little bit more exuberant today, he only had one lecture and it was actually quite interesting, so he's feeling good. The water of the lake is motionless, only abrupt ripples disrupt the stillness whenever the breeze passes by. Leaves have gathered and stacked themselves up under Louis' bench, patches of maroons and auburns crossed with deep browns and yellow. Louis' curious, bright eyes scan the area, he smiles absently at the ducklings hopping about the water bank nearby. He diverts his gaze back onto the bench and freezes.

Because somebody is already there.

A boy, can't be too old, wavy locks of brown hair and dark clothes cascading his body. Sitting down in Louis' spot. Talking to the sky and looking awfully unhappy whilst doing so.

A surge of questions dash through his mind like an asteroid field: why is he here? Does he come here often or is this his first time in Louis' spot? Is he okay? Does he need help or is he just looking for a place to rest? Or worse, is he looking for a spot of his own?

Normally, he wouldn't mind sharing; Louis is a kind guy, he doesn't see it as a bad thing to allow others to use what is yours. Except, well.

This is his spot. _His spot_.

His mum's spot, too.

So his fingers twitch and curl up into unstable fists at his sides. His feet reluctantly push through the sludgy ground and he heads down the sloped path with his chin held up high.

He doesn't take any notice of the stranger's sudden silence. No, instead, Louis sits himself down right next to him without an utterance or a single glance. His spot.

And then from the corner of his eye, he sees the person beside him glance up. Chocolate, unruly curls bouncing as his head turns and his eyes lock onto Louis judgementally. Intimidation isn't something Louis takes to kindly.

Meaning, he looks back.

And in return? The young stranger scowls. He actually scowls. His lips shrivel up into a nasty snarl and he shakes his annoying curly head like a fed-up child. Shooting onto his feet, he dusts over his thighs and tugs harshly at the sleeves of his black trench coat. Louis thinks he resembles some sort of predictable character from an enigmatic novel of some sort. He looks stupid. Although, before turning on his heel, the boy takes one last look at Louis. Then he storms off.

Louis is baffled. And angry.

"Prat," he says lowly, shoulders tense and blood hot. He leans back on his palms once more and studies the flat body of water before him. The sound of irate footsteps quietens.

"Excuse me?" comes a deep, short-tempered voice.

Bloody hell, Louis' managed to run into a nutcase, hasn't he?

At a ruthlessly slow pace, he turns his head and meets the frustrated eyes of the stranger. He looks livid. And alright, perhaps it wasn't necessary to dig out an unjust insult but it happened—it is what it is—why is this boy so upset? "I called you a prat," he responds, all nonchalant and unbothered.

It's satisfies Louis immediately, when he sees the curly-haired boy's jaw clench tightly. "Why?" he says, gritting his teeth rather aggressively. A right nutter, this one.

"Because," Louis muses, spinning around on the bench and facing the stranger entirely. "You are acting like a prat."

He's pushing it now. He can definitely tell, by the way the offended boy paces towards him, eyes dark and narrow. "You didn't have to sit by me, did you?" he challenges. "And yet you did. So who is the prat here, really?"

Louis snorts. "Calm down, Curly. It's a public place." Yes, it is hypocritical because yes he did just make a snarky comment at a stranger for sitting in _his spot_ in a 'public place'.

With that, the boy's unusually pink-tinted lips part. The words are set to come out, Louis knows it, but they don't. Nothing does. Except an inaudible sigh, perhaps a mumble, that only the cobblestone beneath their feet can hear or the nosey trees all around them. Either way, Louis doesn't understand what's happening until the boy is storming away from him in a blur of unspoken fury. Louis blinks.

He snaps his head up to the grey sky and furrows his eyebrows comically. "You saw that too, right?"

**

Turns out Friday night was a blast. Louis drunk himself into oblivion, his feet were sore from dancing all night and his cheeks had never ached worse than they did then. Smiling and grinning as if he was challenging the stars to see who could shine brighter.

It wasn't until he woke up feeling like he could throw up five thousand kilograms of pure stomachache that he regretted doing those shots. That last set of fucking shots.

He spent the majority of the day crawling about his dorm building boundlessly. Nobody was in so he was free to drag his limb body all across the hardwood floor, into the kitchen—grab himself an entire box of Coco Pops, no milk necessary, he'd puke again—plop himself onto the sofa and lay there until the urge to piss became too much for him to ignore.

So that was Saturday.

And then, regardless of his pounding head that refused to stop pounding despite the constant tablet taking, Louis slid on his converse and grabbed his winter coat. Off for his daily chat, which he'd never skive, hasn't for nearly three years now. It isn't just routine, you know? It's more than that. He's going to talk to his mum. Except that doesn't entirely go to plan. Because when he gets there, he gapes.

Curly's back. In Louis' spot. Lord have mercy. And he sounds stressed out and furious as he flaunts his hands in the air and stomps his foot against the bench, the beanie clinging to his curls slips with each excessive motion. "No," the stranger shouts, voice strained, head facing the cloudy airspace above. "Fuck you. I was good enough and _you_ —you made me feel like I wasn't!"

And what?

"This is my fucking life," he hisses quietly, shoulder's dropping as does his head.

Louis steps back unsurely, soon realising he's standing a bit close. He tilts his head as he gazes at the peculiar boy curiously.

"Fucking shit," he speaks again.

This is becoming unwillingly tense, the oxygen surrounding Louis is stripped, even though he's outside and the breeze has never felt fresher. In fact, the water's almost frozen and Louis can feel his cheeks flush with a kiss of a rose from the chilly air lingering by him. He wonders how the boy hasn't noticed him yet. That is, until he shifts balance and swaps his foot to focus more weight onto the left. A small branch, no thicker than a coin, snaps and creates a cruel sound.

A heavy gaze locks directly onto him.

"You again?" Ouch.

There's no way Louis is leaving. Even if Curly got here first. Even if Curly is being a prick. Fuck that idea. Curly can shove it up his pale arse. Stubbornly, determinedly, bravely, Louis strolls over to the bench. He ignores the holes being punctured in the back of his red beanie and he sits down, zipping up his coat. It really is freezing, dammit. "Are you just going to stare at me, Curly? Freaking me out, man." A curt breath is sucked in, Louis thinks he can hear the boy's lips snap shut. He smirks out of Curly's sight.

But the reply he's given isn't challenging or snappy; it's silence. Until weight lifts from the opposite side of Louis' bench and the stranger is standing, looking unsettlingly tall as he shakes his head.

"Why did you come here?" Louis asks, studying Curly as he wipes away crumbled leaves and new patches of water seeping into his black skinny jeans. That can't feel too good.

The boy looks up suddenly, trapping Louis' breath in his throat as green blazes into him. It seems Curly has big, mysterious, forest-green eyes. Huh.

"I'm leaving," the strange boy huffs, pulling his eyes from Louis and making his way to the steep path. Just like that he's gone.

Vanished, evaporated, disintegrated into the fog-covered trees watching over him. Louis' a little hurt, he must admit. Curly left in an instant and didn't even have the decency to answer his question.

That doesn't matter, anyway. Louis came here to talk to his mum, not think about an intruder who was no business lingering about _his spot_. Good riddance, he says.

Louis hopes he never sees him again.

"Mum!" he groans, shaking his head and wincing when a pang of pain shoots through the inside of his head. "I am never drinking tequila again."

**

Sunday evening.

The moon is gleaming with a silvery hue, birds are fluttering amongst the shadows of the sky, little forest creatures are peeping out from the outskirts of the woods across the lake. It's like Louis' landed himself in his own personal fairytale. Although, he doesn't really feel like he's in a fairytale. He actually feels quite the opposite. Like he's in the depths of the darkest realm, locked away from all of the beauty in the world, there's no light. There aren't any wonderful deer padding along the paths that trail off into the woods, there is no pretty moon resting high in the sky. Everything is dark. Unholy. Miserable.

"You're everywhere, mum," he cries. The splintered wood sinks into his fingers but he makes no attempt at moving out of its path.

"You're everywhere except right here."

There is no light today.

"It hurts."

He feels faint teardrops trail down his peachy cheeks, slipping along his jawline and dipping underneath the collar of his jumper. "I thought I was getting past this...y'know? I thought I was getting better at handling this pain... this grief or whatever the fuck this is." His head falls into his palm and he sighs. "It isn't fair, mum. You should be here with me. You should be here to tell me that I'm fucking up my life. I shouldn't have to tell myself that. That was supposed to be your job and you're not even here to do it. Why did you have to go? Why did you leave me?"

The wind whispers words only the rain can hear.

Louis sighs.

And so does somebody else—

Somebody else??

"I—" Turning around that quickly nearly gives Louis whiplash. "Curly?"

That boy—that _same boy_ —is glaring straight at him, supple lips pursed as his curls are tossed about with the noisy breeze. His skin is flushed and extraordinarily ghostly, its tone compliments the sky, Louis thinks. He isn't himself today.

Louis uses his palm to wipe away the gathered wetness on his cheeks, chin, neck. His glacial hand reacting with the flustered skin of his face causes a shiver to escape his lips. "What are you staring at?" he snaps. And no, he really isn't in the mood to wind anybody up today. (That's when Louis knows it's bad. He always enjoys winding people up.) He isn't himself today.

"It's a public place," Curly states, walking over to the bench. Louis gawks at him as he sits down and brushes over his bony knees with his slender fingers. "Innit?"

Louis can only blink.

"You're staring at _me_ now," the boy mutters, looking over the icy lake. His eyelashes flutter but his eyes remain still, appearing quite green and cloudy. Like the colour of frosty grass.

What the fuck is going on.

"Why are you here?" Louis asks.

Nothing but a simple exhale is given in response.

Naturally, Louis stands up. Because, yeah. Normally he would stand this out and bicker, really, but what's the actual point? He's going to fucking fail everything he wishes to succeed in and he misses his mum a whole lot. He wants to wither away, privately, in the comfort of his bed. Without the presence of an irritable, curly-headed dickhead beside him.

As he's leaving the table and approaching the path, a deep, brooding voice rustles with the leaves passing by; the ones brushing over Louis' dirty vans—he couldn't throw them out.

"Why do you call me Curly?" That was unexpected. Wouldn't 'Prat' have sufficed? Louis stops walking. "And why are you always here?"

He has two options: 1) Answer Curly's questions and give into this interrogation or 2) Run. Run faster than his little legs can fathom and never look back.

"Why are _you_ here?" Louis counteracts. Fine, he's tired. He doesn't fancy going for a run tonight, so he opted for number 2.

When Louis spins around and looks Curly in the eyes, his breathing shudders and the water mumbles something in the near distance. The boy's eyebrows are drawn together so tightly they might as well be connected and a loose curl is clinging to his forehead, he looks unpredictably startled. Like he expected Louis to walk away or something. He should've.

"I asked you first," he challenges, looking at the boy head-to-toe.

"I...I don't need a reason. To be here," Curly stammers, directing his gaze elsewhere. Weakling.

"Then don't question me, dickhead," Louis grumbles and rolls his eyes.

An unwanted green stare pierces his sight. "Stop insulting me. You questioned me first."

"Yes. And I would've answered if you had the decency to answer me."

Curly blinks obliviously. "Oh."

Louis tries to walk away. "Wait!" For some reason he does. He spins around and steps slightly closer to the bench to get a better look at this incessant boy. "Why were you crying?"

That was unexpected, too.

"I was talking to somebody."

"Nobody's here."

 _Don't overreact. Calm down. It's just one of those days_. "Yes," he grits. "I can see that."

Curly tilts his head, his hair bounces like it's alive or something. It's idiotic. "I talk to the sky as well."

Upon the boy's confession, Louis tugs his gaze from the ground and looks back at the boy with a lost frown. "What?"

"It isn't weird, to do it. You talk to the sky. I talk to the sky." This is so unnerving. When did this boy become so bloody sociable? Why is he still here? And why the hell hasn't he found a spot of his own yet?

"We're imaginative, is all. We think differently, act differently—" Louis' stumbled upon a nutter who's seemingly fond of poetry. Brilliant. "—it's refreshing."

"It is?"

Curly looks a little caught of guard at Louis' interjection. His eyes soften up nonetheless. "Definitely."

Alright then. "I'm... I need to go home," Louis says and turns around.

He leaves. Feeling even more glum than he did when he'd arrived. Louis climbs up the sloped path and buries his cold-struck hands into the pockets of his jacket. He tries not to think about the sky.

Except he does.

Resulting in him spending the entire walk home with wet cheeks, a shaky lower lip and a hefty heart dragging him down to the floor. He isn't himself today. 

**

Nobody is there when Louis takes his seat beside the lake, it's quiet tonight.

Monday.

The sky's a little darker than it was the previous day, purely because the year is shifting deeper into Winter's embrace and darkness becomes of it. It's adequate and satisfactory and exactly how he feels right now.

There aren't any ducks or birds skidding along the shallow water, their play area has solidified and the water banks seem to have taken the form of permafrost. From where he's sat, Louis can see the soil is very much frozen and the tall grass is rather wilted, every branch in sight is naked and bare, leaves are glued to the ground and everything is tinted with a faded hue.

Basically, everything around him appears to be half-dead. In a state of limbo, a field of unconsciousness. The silence is dreadfully silent and the atmosphere simply doesn't exist. It's really fucking trippy.

"Feel like shit, mum. Not gonna lie," he says. "All of the boys are going out again tonight." For some reason, Louis smiles in spite of the unease ripping his chest apart. It could be seconds before the ground swallows him whole, he feels like.

But the breeze ghosts at the nape of his neck all the same.

"I know. I told them that, too. Being hungover on a Tuesday morning whilst sitting in class is never fun. Learnt that the hard way." His lips tremble into a grin before being replaced by a straight line. "Without you..." he adds.

And fuck.

"Without you."

He chews hastily at his trembling lower lip. The wind isn't responding anymore, nor is the sky or the clouds. Louis' confused. He doesn't understand what's happening until—

"Hello?"

"Fucking hell,” he turns so sharply he feels his neck cramp up with the motion. Louis clutches his racing heart and thinks his eyebrows may be permanently stuck his hairline.

"Sorry."

Curly.

"What do you want?" he sighs, moving into his original position and facing the water. Everything is still the way he left it. Frozen. Limbo.

There are several crunches and snaps echoing behind him and Louis can hear the unwelcome footsteps approaching. He grinds his bottom teeth together when a mop of messy waves enter his vision. "I don't want company."

"I'm not here to be your company."

"Then why are you here?"

Nothing. Is this twat ever going to answer any of Louis' questions?

"Brilliant," he huffs, folding his arms across his chest and groaning. The shittiest day of his life somehow gets shittier. Only him.

Louis can feel the stranger watching him, he can feel the judgment and the disapproval and the fucking intrusive glances been thrown his way, he's sick of it. He's sick of everything. And everything is sick of him.

"I will never amount to anything!" he shouts, loud and obnoxious.

Curly flinches. The wind shudders frantically and the clouds flaunt their glory, parting and merging in a whirl of grey and tinted white.

The sky's listening and the sky agrees.

Louis wilts.

He jumps from the table, blinking away the sheer layer of gloss collecting over his blue eyes. The stranger is still staring at him, he hasn't stopped since he's arrived. The thing is, Louis doesn't care. He doesn't care about anything right now.

He just walks away. 

**

Tuesday isn't all that riveting.

The hours drag by and rain lashes down, it splatters itself against the windows of Louis' classroom as he flattens his forehead against his desk and clenches his hands closed with impatience. Niall has stopped answering his texts. He's ignoring Louis' complaints about how ridiculous education is and how it's merely a load of bullshit created by a bunch of pretentious twats who deemed it necessary to make everybody who wants to succeed in life bloody miserable.

' _Grow a pair, Tommo. You're always so dramatic_ ', he'd said, seeming brief and upfront. That boy is too in touch with his emotions.

Louis rolled his eyes and typed in his response ferociously. ' _not dramatic. im tired of this system i was unconsciously born into. it wasnt my wish to live in this world._ '

' _I see. So what world do you wish to live in?_ ' He grinned, replying with his phone hidden underneath his desk.

' _neverland, obviously. im a lost boy, nialler_ '

He received a quick reply at that one. ' _You're such a twat._ '

And then.

' _Do your work. And stop texting me. Christmas holiday is in three days. You're not going to die. Suck it up and fuck off_ '

' _ur not my friend anymore, im disowning u._ '

Louis waited for Niall's name to pop up on the screen. His phone was burning up in his hand.

' _niall??_ '

Laughable silence.

' _this isnt fair_ '

Louis hates his friends.

' _i have so much more to say about this cruel world!_ '

' _answer me u dick_ '

And that was about the time when he gave up.

So here he is, dragging his deflated shoulders and hazy legs across campus. He had plans to meet up with Liam and grab a cuppa from the café around the corner from their flat building, but he cancelled because he's going out with a girl he’s met. (Louis doesn’t think it’ll last, though that’s just an observation. Liam has a poor track record for keeping girlfriends.) Zayn's MIA for the twentieth time this month, probably smoking somewhere mysterious like on a stranger's rooftop.

Louis hates his friends.

Unhappily purchasing a hot chocolate from that very café his shitty friend and he were supposed to sit in, Louis lugged his backpack that was tragically heavy against his poor shoulders and headed off to the lake. It shouldn't of surprised him that he would already be there. It's just his luck, nowadays.

Although it is quite unfortunate, with all of the moping and self-pity flourishing his—usually vibrant, optimistic—thoughts, Louis hadn't thought once about Curly all day. The boy has a horrible habit of stealing somebody else's spot and Louis' confused on how he could've forgotten about such sinister behaviour. Granted, he's certainly reminded of it now.

What an unpleasant thing, he has to face him again. For free. He has to endure the presence and confrontation of this intolerable boy for the price of nothing but suffering. Okay, maybe Niall was right about Louis being a tad dramatic sometimes, but still.

Set fire to the skies and let them burn to ashes.

This is _his_ spot.

"Move," he says.

Green meets blue, at quite a distance, yes. But the world shudders all the same.

"No."

"Asshole," Louis grits, shaking his head and walking over to his bench. He sits down, even kicks at Curly's elbow until it moves. He groans and begins analysing the water. It's practically charcoal-coloured today, it must be the sun's fault.

Louis' been blaming the sun a lot lately. He feels it isn't really with him anymore.

"I don't know why you insist on coming here everyday," he says, eyes locked on the sky. They're always locked on the sky. "But I'd really appreciated it if you stopped. This is my bench. I'm not a selfish guy but it is. It's my bench and this is my spot and you have to find your own."

"I _have_ to?" Curly asks.

His tone's sardonic, meaning he's probably smirking or something. Louis refuses to look, he doesn't have the energy to. "Yes."

"Well I don't want to," he says, folding his arms and turning to look at the lake, mimicking Louis' position, acting a lot like a petty child.

"There are plenty of other benches for you to use."

"I like this one."

"Just leave," Louis tries, resisting the urge to just plea. He can't hold it in anymore, he can't sound unbothered. His voice is shaky and uneasy and he feels so fucking weak and he just can't do this today.

"No."

" _Please_."

"I—" Curly looks at him then. His hair tousles about and he looks shocked. "You're...? Are you okay?"

"Just find another bench—"

"But."

"—find another fucking bench."

"Wh—who do you talk to? When you talk to the sky."

Louis' breathing hitches. The air is cut off, trapped in his airways. The space around them sort of grows picturesque. Frozen like a freeze-frame. He can't do this today. "Nobody."

"I've heard you. You talk to someone."

Louis hates this. People know where he goes. They know he disappears and reappears when he pleases, they know he will vanish late in the afternoon and return later without any further questions asked. His friends know what happened a little. They know bits and pieces about Louis' past, but he never really talks about what's happened. Though he will bring up his mum, he's not ashamed of it or anything, but he can't _talk_ about it. He can't talk about what happened, he can't talk to anybody about that. Including Curly.

"You told me you talk to the sky, too," Louis says quietly. His soft tone is missable, easily caught up with the wind's howling.

He looks at the astonished boy. They sit together, face-to-face and Louis starts to feel like he's being ignored. He feels worse than he did before they even spoke. Pangs of silence wound the atmosphere. Until the stranger cuts them off.

"I do."

"... Oh," Louis wonders, gnawing on his bottom lip. "What about?"

Curly seems internally conflicted. His eyes are wide and his lips are parted greatly. His fingers twitch and he itches his nail beds anxiously. "How I feel, mostly." His slender frame pops like a balloon, overwhelmed by honesty. Louis' assuming he's never really spoken openly about this either. It's peculiar for them both.

"Yeah? I do that."

Curly looks up eventually. "It's nice," he says, a small smile toying at his heart-shaped lips.

"It is. Uh, I'm Louis." Louis extends his hand and doesn't think twice about attempting to withdraw it.

Except, the taller boy in front of him moves. He slides his palm against Louis' own and shakes their connected hands. The contact of skin-to-skin is unexpected, Curly's hand is warm and silky and for some reason Louis' head is spinning.

"Um," the boy pulls away and glares at the water instead. "'M Harry. Curly works, too. If you prefer that? I don't know. But Harry's my real name."

"Harry," Louis repeats. "Harold?"

He shakes his head, fighting a smile. It's endearing to be honest. "Just Harry."

"Not 'Just Harry'," Louis argues. "You make it sound terrible when you say it like that."

"Oh—I," Harry looks as if he's been caught in headlights. There are no signs of anger or frustration, no scowl in sight. He looks small, delicate; perhaps as small and delicate as Louis feels, if that was possible. He thinks they both might feel out of place today. "Didn't mean to."

The breezes scratches the apples of Louis' cheeks, reminding him to lower his feet back onto the ground.

"Nah, it's okay. Sorry for being a twat."

"Sorry for taking your spot," Harry counteracts. His features soften and his face becomes clear, smooth and pale, without the addition of tight marks that portray a frown. He looks young.

Louis feels like shit. "It's not really 'my spot', 'suppose," he shrugs. "You were right, anyone can come here."

Harry's light eyes scurry over his face attentively. "But you're always here. People should know better. _I_ should know better," he trails. "I won't come here anymore." Wrong. Something feels wrong.

This was all Louis wanted. All he'd hoped for. To get his bench back to himself and to be alone again. And now that opportunity is being handed to him on a silver platter and he... It feels wrong. "You don't have to do that," he mumbles. "I don't mind. Really," he smiles, it's pure and all. "It's only a bench."

Something entirely unpredictable happens then. With Louis' almost inaudible utterance, Harry snorts. He snorts and Louis feels his toes tingle. (It's possible it's the cold's doing but who cares, Harry snorted. Maybe he's growing to like Curly more than he'd intended to. Who can blame him? The fucker snorts.)

"That's true."

Louis grins, almost beaming at his new friend (?) and rubbing his frozen hands together. "The sky's big enough for us both to share, right?"

"Yeah," Harry chuckles. "Think so."

**

Wednesday was a slow day for Louis. He didn't have any lectures so he spent most of his time curled up in bed listening to The Dark Side of The Moon on shuffle. (It's oddly comforting, alright? The Great Gig in The Sky is comforting for him. Louis can't work in silence, so. Lay off.) He was actually quite productive, in terms of sorting out future assignments and what he'll need to get done over the break, it was needed.

For once, he's glad to be outdoors in the fresh air now. His own puffs of warm breath fade out into the atmosphere and he shoves his hands in his pockets, fighting off the cold.

After nipping into the café he frequently visits, Louis clutches the two steamy cups of hot chocolate in his small palms. He treks along the busy main roads, sticking to the pavement, until he approaches the cut off for the park. The footpath is frozen, the bushes and usually-long plants have withdrawn and opened it up even wider. Louis has a wonderful sighting of his bench, isolated in the midst of the scenery. He smiles, absently glancing down every few seconds with each step to make sure he doesn't slip.

The park is a little busier today. There are families in sight, small children resembling his sisters are scurrying around the outskirts of the water, looking over the railing and gaping at the tadpoles nesting in the banks. Louis used to be the same, he was fascinated by nature because it would never bore him.

He sits down in usual spot, except he shuffles over a fraction and places one of the takeout cups down in the revealed space. A solitary goose metres from the right side of the lake makes an unpleasant sound, flapping its gigantic winds all about the space and disrupting whatever peace had become of the place. Louis can't help but laugh. The goose is ducking its peculiar-looking head underwater and honking whenever it pops back up.

Nature's never boring.

However, his attention does manage to peel off of the bird when leaves are crunched from behind him. Louis' brows tug inquisitively and he turns to see Harry--Harry--Louis' new friend is here.

And although he appears unhappy, as he does the majority of the times Louis has seen him, Harry's eyes light up when they lock onto Louis. His lips soften out and his shoulders ease off as tension blows away. His speed increases and he takes a spot next to Louis curiously, eyes darting between the cup in Louis' hand, the one on the table, and Louis himself.

"Hello," he greets with a kind voice. It reminds Louis of the hot chocolate he's been drinking, warm and smooth, flowing beautifully in the mix of sounds around them.

"Afternoon." He slides the drink next to his thigh across the table, nudging it until it taps Harry's finger.

"For you," Louis says, nodding.

His new friend visibly stammers. His head slants and his curls bounce, catching a waft of the breeze drifting by. "Wh—really?"

"It's just a drink," Louis chuckles. "There was an offer," he explains, breathing in. "A fiver for two. I knew I'd see you, so I thought 'why not?' and yeah. I got us hot chocolate. You better drink it, too. 'Cause everyone likes hot chocolate and if you find an excuse to tell me that you don't, we'll have a problem."

It's like he's sitting with a small boy. Harry's lips close and slant into a hesitant smile, regardless he picks up the drink and murmurs a quiet, "thank you, Louis." He takes a sip of the drink and hums in delight, licking his lips.

"It's good, isn't it?"

"Mmhm."

Louis laughs, moving to face the lake. The swan's still there. He laughs again.

"What?"

Louis bites his lip, muffling the small bursts of laughter escaping his throat. "Look," he points, "look at how fucking idiotic that swan is being."

Harry glares at Louis like he's insane, but he follows where his finger is directing him and breathes out a sound that must resemble laughter. "I don't think it's being idiotic," he chuckles.

Now that's a load of crap. Louis knows it is. The swan is quite literally spinning in its place, submerging itself under water and flailing about when it shoots through the surface. Louis clutches his tummy and struggles to breathe. "Are you not seeing this?"

"Uh," Harry looks again, tilting his head like a bloody puppy. "Is it dying?" Louis' eyes widen and he stares right into Harry's.

He cackles and hutches over immediately. "He's not dying! Oh my God, imagine."

Harry watches with lost eyes.

"They do it for fun, I think. Or like, to clean themselves?" he finally manages to say, voice shaky and strained. "'M not sure."

"Hm," Harry pouts, studying the spectacle. "I think it might be trying to feed."

"Oh," Louis draws his eyes from him, which is suddenly a very difficult task to complete, looking at the swan's submerged head. Its neck is bent and set in place, wings steady and spread out in the air. "You know, you might be onto something here."

"Uh-huh," Harry says. His long fingers wrap around his cup and he takes another gulp. His nose is blush from the cold, with his face soft and gentle. He looks like Winter morning.

"So I'm assuming you're quite clever then, are you? Got a big noggin?"

Louis bonks his head demonstrating his words, Harry giggles and ducks his head, he might replay the sound in his head forever.

"Never clever," Harry affirms.

"I don't believe that."

"Why not?" he looks up.

"Don't think I didn't hear you quoting and waffling meaningful things the other day, Curly."

"Wasn't quoting anyone."

"Yeah, okay. I'm right. You like poetry?" Harry nods. "Yeah, figured that much. Look like one."

The boy blinks. "What?"

Louis chuckles. "You look like a poem."

"That's..." he laughs unsurely. "That doesn't make any sense."

"'S not supposed to. To you, anyway."

Harry narrows his eyes. "You're strangely complex."

"I am a star," Louis sing-songs, looking up to the sky dramatically. Harry chuckles and takes another generous sip of his drink, he does the same.

"Now," a few minutes of silence slip away until Louis decides to turn to Harry and place his hands on his legs assertively. He clears his throat promptly. "Why the glum face?"

"Um. I'm just tired," he replies. "Y'know how it is."

"Had a bad day?" Harry nods. "Wanna talk about it?" The boy ponders, he doesn't answer so Louis opts for another question. "Want me to leave so you can talk to the sky about it?"

"It's okay. I should probably head back."

"Hm."

"Thank you. For the drink."

"No worries."

Harry hovers. "Alright, well..." he walks around the table and glances back at Louis. "See you tomorrow?"

Louis can't help but smile. "You know where to find me."

**

It wasn't necessarily unexpected, Louis knows it happens. Where, sometimes there's a reason for his low energy and distant mind, there are also days where it happens spontaneously. Without cause. He can't control it, he wishes he could.

The boys are aware he's an independent guy. They know he likes time alone, especially when he gets like this. Nobody's ever really understood it, he supposes. It isn't their fault, Niall always tries to cheer him up as the boy's endlessly cheerful. Zayn tends to observe when Louis' not quite himself, he'll ask but never intrude. Liam's quite similar in that aspect, he usually asks what's going on with Louis a day after his blues have passed by. He has good friends, yeah. It doesn't stop him from feeling alone though.

Like today, Thursday.

All he's noticed are the people living their lives around him. Louis sees them and internally aches. He sees their smiley faces and euphoric laughs as they walk past him anywhere he goes. He doesn't understand it. Louis knows people get sad, he knows it's natural and expected. But sometimes he doesn't understand how people handle it so well. He's just not as well-equipped.

When Louis gets sad, it engulfs him. Every smile and utterance that he manages to produce feels so tainted and untruthful, and he can't help it. It's like he's existing in another's body or mind. His spirit is trapped and wishes to roam, he doesn't feel anchored down anywhere. He hasn't felt that way for as long as he can remember. He thinks it's because of his mum. Losing her was unfortunately an awakening for many of his struggles.

It's difficult because Louis is painstakingly aware of how his mind functions. He knows the signs and the triggers that may lead him to being sad. For example, yesterday was an okay day for him. He felt motivated and had drive. He spoke to Harry and it was different, it was _fun_. He had _fun_. That never seems to last very long, as it often results in days like today.

The park is ghostly and eery when he gets there. Unattractive rain is spitting from above and it's drenching Louis' hair, yet he doesn't do anything about it. Instead, he sits down on his bench and sulks. He mopes and he sighs. Being sad is fucking terrible.

"Louis!" comes a chirpy voice from behind.

When he spins and sees Harry trotting over to him, he's undeniably confused. Did they switch demeanours? Is he experiencing Yesterday Harry's low or is Harry experiencing Yesterday Louis' high? What the fuck.

"Hi, Curly."

"You okay?" the boy asks, plonking himself down and locking his fingers together in his lap. He looks at him brightly and it burns Louis' eyes.

"Been better mate, can't lie." Well that was open. Why the hell did he tell Harry that?

"Oh," Harry says. "How come?"

"Not sure. I felt alright yesterday, to be fair." Talking, freely. Huh. This is new.

"You did seem alright yesterday," Harry agrees. "Did something happen?"

Louis picks at his jeans. "Nah, not really. Had a lecture but it was a drag. Haven't really seen anybody today." Harry's watching him tentatively. "I guess I just woke up feeling this way."

"I get it, happens to me sometimes as well."

The breeze slurs and pinches Louis' ears. He shivers, glaring up at Harry through his lashes. "Really?"

Harry nods. "Yeah, we all have our off days, Lou—" _Lou_. "I wouldn't worry about it."

"Yeah, that makes sense," he sits up. "Thanks, Harry."

"I didn't do anything," Harry smiles sweetly, shrugging.

Louis only smiles back. He thinks Harry's got an infectious persona, even though Louis hasn't known him for very long. It should be concerning. "Why the bright face?"

Harry's white teeth appear and his lips curl farther into a grin. "Made a friend today."

"Yeah?" Louis didn't realise that was a necessity. He doesn't really know much about Harry at all, does he? That should change.

"Yep, he's Irish. Weird fella, funny. Met him in the canteen."

"You go to Uni too?"

"Yeah. First year."

"Oh, I'm doing my third," Louis smiles.

"I did think you were older."

"Are you suggesting I look ancient, Curly?"

Harry giggles, it's breathtaking. "No, not at all. I meant it in a complimentary way. You look mature."

"Hmm."

"Seriously! I didn't mean it like that," he tries again. Louis looks away just to hide his smile. "You actually look quite young. I just haven't seen you around campus when I have a class."

"I know, I'm only winding you up." Harry scrunches his nose fondly and glances at the water, breaking eye contact. "Tell me about this friend of yours, then," Louis continues.

And so Harry did. He told him all about Niall. (yes, Louis automatically new it would be Niall. If they were to share a mutual friend, it was definitely going to be Niall. Also, literally nobody else is Irish and friendly at their Uni.) He went into far too much detail about Niall's contagious laughter and his sunny smile. Louis found it endearing because he was so content and grateful to have run into this new friend. Hearing him talk about the event was extremely heartwarming. Louis thinks Harry's been waiting a while for something like that to have happened.

"Do you get lonely, Curly?" he asks the boy a couple hours later.

Darkness has now practically overthrown the day. It's hardly even 6:00 pm and yet, total darkness. The street lamps are unhelpful, corrupting the silvery moon's light with warmth. Luckily, the bench is placed directly underneath an amber beam. Fog is gathering above the water's surface in the distance. Louis' rather proud of himself for choosing such a pretty spot to sit in.

They've stopped talking for a minute or so now. He pulls his eyes away and glares harshly at the floor. It bothers Louis, to an extent. Maybe because, since Harry's arrival, he's felt a lot less sad. Like he sort of forgot about the bad in the world. About the day he was having. He didn't think about the people in the universe that were so much happier than him. He didn't reminisce on the times where he didn't feel like crap. He just focused on the boy sitting right next to him. It wasn't all that difficult, truthfully. He wishes it was that simple for Harry.

"Sometimes, yes," the boy eventually responds.

Louis' in awe, he half-expected Harry to leave.

"I don't know many people here."

It shouldn't rattle his' insides and yet, it does. Those words make him feel heavy. As he watches Harry's body sink and shrivel, inevitably looking looking a lot smaller than it is, Louis knows it isn't right. Not one bit. "I heard you," he manages to say.

Their eyes remain connected. It's strong and terrifying and agonisingly real but he can't tear them apart. He can't look away.

"That day. It was Saturday," Louis takes a deep breath. "You were upset. More than I was earlier. You were shouting at the sky and you were saying that you weren't good enough. That somebody made you feel like you weren't...good enough. Who? Who made you feel like you weren't good enough?"

The seconds tick by like a fucking countdown that'll trigger a bomb. He searches deeply into Harry's eyes, everything about him is emotionless and blank, but his eyes are brutal. They're pale, yes, but they're also horrifically sad. Covered with a sheer layer of wetness that refuses to spill, his pupil's shake and his eyelashes flutter. He looks so _sad_.

Is this what it looks like? Is this the visual embodiment of unhappiness? He'd rather see the laughter. He'd rather wilt with envy and choke on jealousy at the sight of other's smiling away. He'd rather experience anything other than seeing _Harry_ like this.

"C'mon, Curly. Talk to m—" Harry stands up.

What the fuck.

"I really should get going, it's so late. I didn't notice the time," he says. And his quivered voice is penetrating Louis' heart, piercing its surface and puncturing it deeply. It sounds too pained. Why is he leaving?

Harry wipes down his trousers and sleeves free from any dust and sediment gathered. He whirls around and flashes Louis an unconvincing smile of dismissal.

"Um," Louis sounds really quiet when he speaks, hopeful almost. "Tomorrow?"

The boy before him frowns, he steps back and moves farther from the bench. "Y—yeah. I'll see you," he announces. And then he's gone.

Fallen branches and decaying leaves flutter along the ground and the wind is doing what it does best. It makes Louis realise something.

"Do you think he gets sad like me, mum?"

The water ripples, whiteness bounces off the surface as the moon shines down on it. It's freezing outside and the breeze is ruthless. But it _is_ responding.

So maybe Harry does get sad. Like Louis. They both get sad. 

**

Classes were okay today, Louis figures. They weren't terrible, at most bearable, but it's all fine. He's going to get drunk later. It's Friday night, a time to celebrate with excessive alcohol and wild endeavours. The lads are heading out into the city and he is most definitely joining them. The Christmas Holidays have officially begun.

Just as he's tying his laces up on his converse, ready for his walk to the park, his phone buzzes and catches his eye. An unknown number, received now at 5:17pm. Louis' confused, yes, but intrigued nevertheless.

He picks it up and opens the message.

' _I'm sorry for leaving the way I did yesterday. I was having a bad day. So, I bought you a hot chocolate. Wasn't sure if you were coming down today, but I thought I owed you one. Oh btw, Niall gave me your number. H_ '

Oh. Louis turns off his phone and stands up.

To conclude, Harry had asked for his number. Harry asked Niall for his number and also brought him a hot chocolate to apologise. Even though Louis' been a lot ruder to Harry in the past, he still texted him and bought him a drink because he felt bad.

Point being, Harry asked for his number.

He turns on his phone once more and smiles as he types, ' _aren't you a gem? be there in ten._ '

The walk to the lake was cursory and tedious. Louis has become irritable and impatient, more so than he usually is. He doesn't like to ponder, ironically, it gives him more time to overthink, to dwell. Walking _to_ a place is always much worse than walking _from_ a place. Even if it's a place he visits daily.

"Louis!"

Ah, fresh air.

"Heya, Curly." Louis hops on the bench and smiles faintly at the younger boy who's wearing an excitable grin and rosy cheeks. His curls are a little perkier today, too.

"Here," Harry slides the cup across the table. "I think it's still warm."

"Cheers, mate." Louis takes a sip and hums playfully, side-glancing at Harry who's watching his every move, desperate for a response. Louis drags it out, of course, taking multiple sips and humming at a ridiculously slow pace.

"Well?" Harry urges, voice short and temperamental.

"Hm?" he says, pretending to be oblivious. It's a shame really, Harry's really gullible.

"Seriously! Is it too cold?!"

Louis chuckles. He can't tease him for ages, it's like ignoring a curly, doe-eyed puppy. "It's perfect."

And it's like the sky brightens up and nighttime simply vanishes. Dusk is withheld as Harry beams. His cheeks flush and he shuffles around and glares at his lap shyly, the breeze rustles his wavy curls and skins his pale skin. His brown boot taps against the bench seat and he doesn't dare look at Louis, who's already smiling at him hopelessly.

"How was your day?" Harry eventually speaks after some times passes.

"Underwhelming. You?"

"Erm, same. I guess."

"What was wrong, yesterday?" Louis wonders, cautiously.

He waits. He knows he has to wait for Harry. The boy's rather fragile, it's obvious to the naked eye. He's defensive but also gentle, sweet but also guarded. He just needs somebody to give him time. Louis' got plenty.

"You..." At last, Harry's whispers merge with the breeze. They're quiet and oh so uncertain. But they're there. "You heard me. That day. I didn't know you had heard me. It startled me."

"I noticed."

"I'm sorry for running away."

"You don't have to apologise for that. I made you uncomfortable."

"Yes but you didn't mean any harm by it."

"I was being nosey, Harry. It was selfish and insensitive. I shouldn't have sprung it on you."

"It's okay, I just feel bad for leaving."

"I've left on much worse terms."

Harry fights a smile. "You do make quite the exit."

Louis rolls his eyes. "And entrance, Curly. I'm a star, remember."

"How could I forget?"

For a moment, they look at one another. There's only dainty sound filling the air, trickling water and branches swaying. Louis' alluded by the winsome eyes in front of him. Small golden specks blended in the bewitching green. He's never seen eyes so pretty. They remind Louis of so many things and yet, when he looks directly into them, his mind goes blank.

Having said that, it seems Harry's noticed his sudden wordless behaviour because he takes a deep breath through his nose and moves away.

"Moving here was so terrifying, Louis." He fiddles with his lower lip, playing with it between his fingers and his rings glisten like the stars.

"My sister moved away for Uni years ago, it was expected for me to do the same. At first I thought it'd be riveting, he idea of meeting new people and exploring a new place. The world's supposed to be my oyster, right? So I worked for the grades because I knew mum was trying too. Gemma's really smart, nimble-witted and determined. She's gifted, academically and her grades have always been impeccable. Her leaving for University wasn't a challenge but I had to work for my achievements, which was difficult, albeit I managed to somehow. My friends were great, but they all left before me. Mum was working quite a bit so I started to spend a lot of time alone. After exams were over and done with, dad started to act strange, more so than usual. He was never home anyway--I'm not stupid, I knew where he was--he would go to another woman's house as if it was normal. He and mum never were in love, it took me a while to accept that. But what I couldn't accept was why he left.

It made no sense to me. Throughout my life he'd always been critical and strict. I thought it was a parental thing, but mum would never put that much pressure on me. She never told me that what I wore was too bright or too exuberant. She never said I needed to be friends with more boys. She never said it was weird to fancy boys, either. She never said I was too sensitive and that I cried too much. But she _always_ told me she loved me. Louis, she always did. Dad, he... He never told me, Lou. I don't think he's ever said it to me. Not once.

I did though. I loved and cared for him so much. I wanted him to like me so badly. It was—he wouldn't listen. When I asked him if we could go out for a night or maybe just watch a film together, he'd tell me he was too busy or that he was going out. Then he'd come home drunk and start an argument with whomever was fortunate enough to be downstairs. It was usually mum. And it was when he got physical things started to change. Right before the summer holidays begun, he had stumbled into the living room and started shouting at her for not washing his laundry or something stupid like that. He hit her then. Because she told him she'd had enough, that she wanted to split up, he hit her. Gemma was out with her boyfriend, but I was home. I ran downstairs and I—" Harry closes his eyes.

His quivering lips remain parted for a few seconds. His profile is illuminated by the moon and the stars and Louis thinks he looks just heavenly. Yet it contrasts with the way his eyes twitch and his breathing becomes jittery. He sniffles and curls his fingers in and out of tight fists. He's so burdened and pained and Louis can feel himself tearing apart at the sight.

"He wasn't than much taller than me then. I'm not a violent person, but I can be strong when I have to be. I managed to get my mum free and away from his grasp but he got to me. He grabbed my hoodie and pulled me from her. She was crying and begging for him to calm down, sometimes I still hear it. Though, I don't think he could hear her, to be honest. He was _so drunk_. He hit me a lot that night. Kicked and shoved my body... It was the neighbours who stopped it... They called the police and helped me calm him down. After that, he fled, didn't even take his stuff. Just took off and left me and mum fucked up. Covered in cuts and bruises, we were broken... I couldn't leave her like that, Lou... She made me though. She told me she'd never forgive herself if I put off my education because of the man she married. It was bullshit, I knew it. Though I left because I knew she needed time. She was so lost. She said would feel better knowing I was doing something meaningful with my life and I believed her."

Harry laughs brokenly. His tears glide down his cheeks as if they don't exist. He laughs breathlessly and shakes his head. "Niall was the first friend I made, after four months. I'd been studying and working and basically rotting away, it was agony. And I finally found a friend. Niall. Then...I found...well, you."

Louis breathes out a laugh. It's inaudible and almost silent, even so he smiles at Harry likes he's salvation. "I'm no cause for celebration, Curly. You'll find better friends than me."

The wind shudders and slides down the sleeves of Louis' coat. Harry ducks his head and runs a shaky hand through his curls, sniffing and presumably composing himself.

"Meeting Niall was refreshing. He's already asked me to go out tonight for drinks. This is a cause for celebration. And you're also a part of that. You're a new friend of mine now, too. A bonus, if you will." He grins.

Its like all of the aching and trauma Harry's gathered and sprawled out into the atmosphere has disintegrated. As he looks at Louis blindly, overwhelmed by adrenaline and the drive to let go, he looks so much lighter. "I've got news for you then."

"Yeah?" Harry's eyes scan Louis'.

"Niall's actually one of me best mates. I'm going out for drinks with him tonight, too. Seems you've been invited without my permission." Louis puts up a strong front, folding his arms and straightening his shoulders teasingly.

"Is that so?"

He nods, half-grinning.

"Well, then. I do hope I'm welcome. It'd be an awful shame for my first invitation to be disregarded because I've disrupted your plans, Louis. My apologies."

"I will consider your cause, deem whether or not you're allowed to come."

"How long will that tak—"

"Uh," Louis raises his hand, his eyebrows shoot up and he rubs his chin. Harry's chuckles threaten to break his act.

"I've made up my mind."

"And?" Harry leans forward.

"You're allowed. I am officially inviting you to join us on our night out."

The boy's jaw pops and he beams, pretty dimples sinking into his cheeks, eyes brightening even in the darkness around them. "Thank the heavens!" he cries. Bloody nutter.

"I am too kind to you, thief."

"Thief?"

"Yes," Louis says, turning his head to merge his smile in the shadows. "You're a thief, you stole my bench."

"I'm sorry," Harry places a hand—a rather large one, at that—on Louis' shoulder and shakes him violently. "Please forgive me. We're friends now, you and I. We can share it. If you'll let me?"

He glanced over his shoulder, smile still hidden from Harry's sight. "Hm. We've already been sharing it, for over a week now. Anyway, I'll agree to it. Only if you buy me a pint tonight, though."

"Deal!"

"Perfect," he grins. "You and me, Curly," Louis pokes Harry's chest with his index finger, whose eyes follow curiously. "Are going to get drunk tonight."

The boy breaks out into an ear-splitting grin, resembling nothing other than the cunning Cheshire Cat. "Can't wait."

**

"Come on, Payno. We're already fifteen minutes late. Your hair looks fine, hurry up," Louis shoves at his friends side, forcing him out of the hallway.

Liam merely groans, fighting for one last glance in the mirror. He flaunts his hand and gestures to his head. "My hair keeps falling out of place, Lou. The strand, it keeps falling!"

Louis rolls his eyes, taking Liam's house keys from his jacket pocket. "It looks fashionable. Stop complaining. The taxi's outside. Let's. go."

"I can't! Zayn will think I'm copying him. This is his go-to hairstyle!" he cries.

"My GOD, Liam. If you don't get your arse outside in the next minute I'm going to open the gates of HELL and send everything that's waiting behind them directly your way. MOVE."

In response, his friend only stomps his foot and glares at Louis from head to toe. "Why the sudden rush?" he ponders. "You always moan about wanting to be late, speaking of 'fashionable.' You never care about this usually. And why are you so dressed up? You shaved and you're wearing your favourite vans."

He's right. Louis put on his black vans, the ones with a small smiley face sketched onto the material. They're his positive shoes, they always bring good luck and fortunate. (He's a tad superstitious.)

"I want to dress nicely. It's nearly Christmas, mate. Why can't I look extra nice for Christmas?"

Liam narrows his eyes. "That's not it. Is it because Harry Styles is coming out with us?"

"Wh—no. That's absurd. I've met Harry many o' times, he's a harmless little thing. Won't care what I wear."

"Hmm," Liam smirks.

"Oh do fuck off. Let's go!" Louis kicks at his annoying friend until he starts walking down the stairs.

"Aww, has Tommo got a crush? You trying to pull him, Lou?" Liam teases.

"No," he affirms, voice firm. "I don't want to shag Harry."

"That's a lie. So what, then? You want more?" They reach the front door to Liam's flat building and step outdoors.

"I don't do _more_ ," Louis explains, still shoving at his mate's body. "Hurry up."

"It's okay, you know. To want that."

The seriousness of Liam's tone is terrifying to Louis. He knows what he's doing, he knows why he's talking to him like that. He's trying to help Louis, God forbid there's ever a day he doesn't try to. Liam may love Louis but he has a terrible habit of treating him like a broken mirror, holding the glue and searching for every shattered shard he can find, trying to fix every fucking piece. It's tiring.

"Shut up, please. Let me enjoy Christmas. Get in," he gestures to the taxi and sighs.

Liam only nods, his lips form a straight line and climbs inside without another word. Louis shoves down the unease building in his throat and follows him inside.

**

When they arrive, the club is crowded by waves filled with too many forgettable faces. Hiding away in them are the ones Louis actually wants to find. He surges through the waves of drunken bodies, pushing and shoving, ignoring groans echoing through his ears and stops when he sees them.

Zayn's ordering a drink at the bar, wearing all black with his hair pulled up and his sleeves rolled past his forearms. Niall's leaning against the same bar, elbows resting on the countertop with his patterned shirt and tight jeans. And then, there's Harry. With his black skinny jeans revealing the incredible length of his long legs, a somewhat large dress shirt held together by only a few buttons; the rest are undone, showing off the ink resting underneath his collarbones. He looks like the night.

"Tommo!" Niall shouts and yes. He's already hammered. The dots connect when Louis sees the empty Guinness glasses stacking up next to him.

"Evening," Louis grins, hurrying over and hopping into Niall's open arms. He smells like cologne and booze. It's homely. "How ya doin', Neil?"

"'M fuckin' tipsy, mate. Can't even walk straight!" he says, pulling back and grabbing a half-empty drink next to him.

"That's good, Nialler. That is why we're here, after all."

"There's the spirit!" Niall laughs. "Take notes, Hazza! Louis' got a great mindset."

Louis diverts his gaze and their eyes connect. All of the dramatics kick in: time freezes, everybody else stops moving and Louis' heart beats so quickly he think he might start flying. Harry smiles and the feeling only develops further.

"He does, indeed."

"Why hello, Curly. Fancy seeing you here."

"What a coincidence," Harry counteracts. He brings his colourful-looking drink to his lips, smiling against the glass daringly. Louis' knees wobble.

Liam isn't right about him wanting more with Harry. Louis wants to clarify something. Harry is undeniably gorgeous. That's it, they're friends. Harry's gorgeous and they're bench buddies. There, everything's all cleared up. He's just appreciating Harry's beauty.

Louis marches over and glances up at the curly-haired boy, who's somehow grown a couple of inches over the last couple of hours. "We had a deal, didn't we? Pay up."

Harry grins and turns to Niall. "Next round's on me, Ni."

Niall simply cheers, loud and invasive, wrapping his arms around both Zayn and Liam's neck, hurrying them all over to the bartender.

**

Deep into the night, Louis has found himself leaning on a railing on a balcony outside the club. He's feeling a whole lot like Zayn, all enigmatic and adventurous. He's also found himself standing with a curly friend. His curly friend.

"My head's already pounding," he complains. Even though his jacket is shielding the coldness of the metal railing, he can feel an unpleasant chill pressing against his wrists. Harry walks over, leaning forward and placing his arms on the metal just like Louis. Their biceps touch but neither of them move or pull away.

Harry's body heat is comforting in the winter night's wake. "You did drink an awful lot," he chuckles.

"And you didn't drink enough."

"Hey, who's regretful now?"

"Haha." Louis grins when Harry nudges his arm, shuffling closer. He's tempted to rest his head on Harry, he's at the perfect height.

"I still search for him, in every sunrise," abruptly, Harry says.

It startles Louis a little bit. At first, he believed Harry was talking to him, but when he turns his head and sees Harry's angelic side-profile, his eyes are focused on the stars. "Who, your dad?" he whispers, scared to wake up the sky.

Harry nods.

"Never met mine," Louis mumbles. He doesn't look up, though. He's scared to, if he's being honest. Although he can definitely feel Harry's eyes on him now.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he snorts. "I'm not."

"Okay." Harry nudges him again, this time with more pressure, being a bit more playful. Despite Louis wanting to look up and find mischief in Harry's eyes, he struggles to do so. Talking about is father isn't something he finds challenging, per se, it's how vulnerable he feels after doing so.

The warmth radiating from his waist when Harry suddenly slides an arm around it surprises Louis. He relaxes immediately after it settles, nonetheless.

"I told the sky about you," Louis whispers.

Harry doesn't move or look away, he only listens. His breathing reminds Louis everything's okay. He's safe and he's okay, Harry's got him.

"When you left the park earlier today, I stayed back for a bit. Not long. Just for enough time so I could tell the sky about you."

"What did it say?" Harry asks timidly.

"It agrees with me. We both think you're a good person," he smiles. "And that you're pretty. The sky thinks you're pretty, I made sure of it."

Harry gives his waist a brief squeeze and giggles. "How do you do it? How does it respond? Oh, do tell me."

"Okay," Louis laughs. "The wind speaks to me..."

He freezes momentarily, fearing Harry might laugh, but this time in a cruel way, a mocking way. Louis' always been afraid of judgement. Nobody really knows that he has conversations with the above.

"It doesn't speak to me. I'm jealous," Harry replies, pouting.

"Well, it's 'cause 'm special remember," he slurs, alcohol pulsing through his blood. "I'm a star."

"Yes, yes. I know," the boy chuckles.

A few seconds go by before Harry clears his throat, glancing down at Louis as he nuzzles his cheek into Harry's soft jacket.

"Can I know why you talk to the sky? You don't have to tell me. You know why I do it, I talk to my dad. Well, I argue with him mostly... Who do you talk to?"

"I—" Louis stammers, he takes in a whiff of Harry's intoxicating scent and instantly calming down. "Mum."

"Your mum?"

He nods.

"Why, Louis?"

"Uh..." he pulls Harry closer, cold fingers tugging the jacket. "She's up there."

"Yeah?"

He nods again.

"Did she...fuck. Louis, did she pass away?"

Nightmares, he can feel them. Except this time, Louis awake. His thoughts are no longer harassing and taunting him. They're real this time. They're being spoken aloud and they're coming out of _Harry's_ mouth. He lets go of the coat and moves away.

"Lou..."

"No."

"Louis. C'mon, man."

"No, Harry. Shut up."

Harry walks over to him, taking his wrists and wrapping his slender fingers around them securely. "It's okay. I'm not judging you, Lou. It's okay. Just know. We're only haunted by the things we refuse to accept. This might not be good for you. I wanna help—"

Louis yanks his arms free and stumbles back. "I'm not—nothing's good for me, Harry. I don't need to accept a single fucking thing, alright, mate? Stop with the poems and shit. Just back off, yeah?"

"I'm sorry, Lou. I didn't mean it like that—"

"Stop calling me that, Harold." _Harold_. "It's annoying. You're making my headache worse."

Harry's eyes flinch. He ducks his head and nods unreadably. "I understand," he says. "I'm going to head back. It's late... I'll go get Liam."

Louis tries to shut his eyes and make it all disappear. When Harry opens the door and noise blares in to corrupt the silence, Louis freezes. They were already closed.

**

He feels like shit. After being dragged into a cab and lugged to his room, practically carried the majority of the journey, he was put into bed and left with a bottle of water and some tablets on his bedside table. Louis wakes up feeling deathly, both physically and mentally. He was a prick last night. And he let his damaged brain speak for him and hurt Harry's feelings.

Harry had opened up to him yesterday. He told Louis things that were so raw and so terribly hard for him to tell anybody, all because he trusted Louis. And when it was Louis turn to do the same? He cowered and pushed Harry away. He snapped and he used confrontation to prevent what he feared most.

Reality.

The thing was, Harry was right, Louis did need to accept it. It haunts him because all he's ever done is live a bloody dream. He wakes up everyday, most of the time unhappy, goes to the same lake and sits. He talks to the sky everyday. He pretends and he lives a lie. He acts like his mother didn't actually die and that she sits right there next to him. Just like she used to when he was younger. When she was alive.

You see, Louis' never been one for difficulty. He takes the easy route in life. Every time. Without doubt, he will pick the easiest option. So when he wakes up in the morning and is given the choice between reality and a dream, he choices what he knows to be trusting. To be _easy_.

Pretending is easy. It's undemanding and trouble-free; it requires nothing other than a simple choice. Whereas living, accepting, choosing reality, instead? That's much more complicated. Deciding to live with more unnecessary pain, dismay, regret. It's much more complicated.

Louis always picks the easier option.

But it's never that simple, is it? He's always had it burrowed in the back of his mind, hidden by the faux ideas and thoughts he's conjured up over the years. _She's just on holiday. She's gone a way for a while but she'll be back. She's still here_. It's all wrong and it's all pretend.

Louis' never liked being called out for it. He hates being told he's in denial, that's one word that he absolutely cannot stand. He will kick off and he will argue relentlessly, he will tell people they're wrong and that they're lying. He will get angry. Because they're right.

Harry was right.

He needs to stop picking the easier choice. He needs to _accept_ it. His mum died and she isn't here anymore. He can talk to her but he needs to stop pretending things are the same. They aren't. Louis needs to realise things are different now and it isn't right for him to carry on this way. He shouldn't have snapped at Harry. He has to make it right, he has to apologise. Before he goes home.

' _im so sorry._ '

' _you were right. you were so right curly._ '

' _harry?_ '

' _ill be at the bench later. im always there. please be there too._ '

' _im sorry._ '

**

The park's busy. The streetlights are dismal and flickering away and fog is crawling about the streets. It's Saturday night, Louis goes home tomorrow evening for the holidays.

Right now though, he's sitting on his bench and he's waiting for Harry. It's been an hour. Usually, Harry would've arrived by now.Louis' terrified he won't show, he wouldn't blame him if he didn't. Louis encouraged him to open up and tell him things he's clearly never told anybody else. He trusted Louis and Louis fucking ruined it.

"He isn't coming, mum." His bottom lip stings as it bleeds, he's been chewing on it endlessly. "I really liked him, too. I fucked it up though. Always do."

It's not fair, for life to be so hasty.

"I finally found someone who understands what it's like to feel the way I do. Somebody who struggles and wants things to be better. I finally found someone like him and I ruined it."

The remaining leaves of Autumn rustle in the wind.

"I should go. I've got to pack," he says, standing and reaching for his beanie. As he slides it onto his head and tucks in any escaping strands of hair, he suddenly stops. Freezing mid-spin, Louis stops.

Curly.

He looks absolutely and unconditionally lovely. Dressed in a cream sweater, curls swooped and clinging to his face kindly. His lips are pinker than usual, cheeks rosier than ever, eyes greener than before. Harry looks lovely.

"Hi, Louis."

Oh God, Louis' losing the plot. For a boy who stole his spot. Who would've thought?

"Heya, Curly."

"You alright?" Harry asks, walking down the rest of the sloped path and approaching the bench.

Louis' toes tingle with the cold's bite and he tucks his hands into his pockets nervously. He distantly brushes the toe of his left shoe with his other foot. "Yeah... 'M good. Are you?"

"I am," Harry sits down. Louis slowly does the same. They keep a safe distance on the bench table. "How's your head?"

Louis chews on his smile. "Better."

"Mm, that's good. Niall said you're goin' home tomorrow, for Christmas?" Louis nods. "That should be nice."

"Yeah."

The wave of quietness rushes over them instantaneously. Water is rippling wildly but it's tranquil. There aren't many leaves around tonight. The ducks and swans must've hidden away, as the lake's clear. People are passing through the park but only for a few minutes. It's Harry who slices the silence.

"You called me Harold," he says flatly.

"I know, I—I'm so sorry," Louis tries, he sighs and lets his shoulders fall. The shame coursing through his veins is sharp and painful.

"You made it sound terrible," Harry continues. Louis can only grimace. "Why? Was what I said really so bad?"

"No!" Louis blurts. "Not at all. You had every right asking me. I owed you an explanation, so no. I overreacted. God, Harry. I was drunk and emotional and I wasn't ready. I shouldn't have snapped at you. I didn't mean to call you Harold, it wasn't kind of me. You're Curly."

Harry doesn't look up from his lap. So Louis tries again.

"I've never spoken about my mum properly. But I want to. I really want to. I want you to know about her and why I talk to her everyday. She would've wanted that as well." He picks at his fingernails absently and takes in a deep breath. "If you'll let me tell you about her, I'd like to."

As the other looks up, his chestnut waves bounces freely. He offers a curt nod and looks away fearfully.

"Okay," he sighs. "My mum...mum got sick when I was fifteen. Not that long ago, obviously. Erm... It was really quick and really unexpected. The girls—my sisters—didn't really know what was happening. I was young, yeah, but mum had me when she was young, so. I helped her raise the twins and my younger sisters, I was used to using my initiative and stuff. It was really tricky after that. We had tonnes of help from our family friends and that, with money and stuff. My aunts helped mostly, they watched the girls when I stayed with mum. I'd sleep at the hospital and go to school the next day all tired and stressed. I didn't wash my uniform once but I didn't care, obviously. Um.

One of the days, I was heading back from school. It was quarter to four, I only remember 'cause I had me headphones in, playing music and I noticed the time. When I got to mum's room, the nurse pulled me out and explained she'd gotten poorly again. They were sugarcoating it. She basically had a stroke, _again_. It—" he inhales shakily. "She didn't feel it. They made sure I knew that. But it happened when I was at school, so when I got there she was already...y'know. I broke down the second I saw her. Laying down on that shitty bed, tubes feeding into nose with her hair was all sprawled out across the pillow. Her lips were dry and she was so pale. She still looked beautiful, though. Oh, Harry. She was absolutely stunning. Even like that. I just lost it. The nurses held me while I cried. Eventually, I saw the girls when they came by and we let them know it'd happened. Maybe I'm wrong, but I always feel like it was easier for them. Well, maybe not easier, but certainly different. Being younger, you tend not to notice the impacts things like that will have on your future. You just worry about it at the time. Mum was my best mate, still is, I guess. All I could think about was how my entire life had come crashing down." He blinks away the fresh tears. They burn as they dampen his cheeks.

"This was our place. Every week we'd visit. Sometimes we'd come here at night," he smiles. "Or in the morning. Depending on how spontaneous we were feeling. It was lovely. We'd watch the tadpoles swim in the muggy water and spot the ducks splashing about. And the swans," he snorts. "This was always a safe haven for me. I'd tell her everything here. This was where I told her that I liked boys instead of girls... It was terrifying, I spent ages planning how to tell her and I was so worried she'd look at me differently. She was the first one I told. I shouldn't have been fearful, obviously. She loved me infinitely, regardless of who I fancied. Still, I was worried. Of course, in the end, she didn't even mind. She barely batted an eyelid. Actually, she told me she already knew," he half-grins.

Harry watches Louis like he's a blossoming daisy on a fresh patch of grass. All bright and fresh, open and sunny.

"I—" his fingers tighten into small fists. "I'd just come here and cry. For hours. It was so shitty. My mates wouldn't get it at first. It's not their fault, we were all kids. But, still. They'd judge me for hiding here all the time. That's why I started looking up... Found a friend in the stars. Mum spoke back to me. And she reminded me she was still with me. That's why I become so protective over this spot. It's silly, I know. But my God, when I saw you sitting here, H. I nearly kicked off. I had no clue who you were or what you were doing here, I was just so mad. Like raging. It felt like you were taking her spot as much as mine."

Harry's inhales in a sharp breath.

"No," Louis stammers. "I know you weren't. I'm not deluded... It was just, built-up crap. School's been beating my ass and I just wanted to shout at someone. At _you_. I'm glad I didn't though," he lightly laughs. "And I get you had shit going on as well... It was nice though, I realise it now. After I stopped resenting you. When I heard you talking and looking up, like I do, I didn't feel alone anymore... For ages, I've just felt alienated. Some days I'd wake up internally agonised because I'd feel that sad and hopeless... Alone... I was sick of it. But then, there you were. All cute and curly... Talking to the sky," he says.

And he can't deny it doesn't feel good to hear his heart racing a thousand beats a second. It feels _real_.

"Meeting you was one of the best things that could've happened to me. And the fact that you're like best mates with Niall now, too. It's gotta be fate."

It's at that point Harry chooses to look at him and his cheeks are unnaturally pale, more so than usual. His green eyes are dark and glassy. His lips are so quivery. He's crying. Properly crying. And God, he looks breathtaking doing it.

"You look so beautiful when you cry," Louis says.

Open and honest, maybe that'll be his new thing.

Harry breathes out a laugh. The sound is muffled by his now-closed lips and he looks away.

"Mum would agree," Louis shrugs.

"Your mum sounds wonderful, Lou—Louis."

Fuck. "No, Harry. I didn't mean it, when I said it was annoying. I love when you call me that. You make it sound special."

Next to him, Harry pauses. His eyes widen and his lips slant up. "Special," he repeats.

"You make me feel quite special, Curly. Like I said, I'm glad I met you."

"Likewise," Harry smiles, he sniffles and wipes his nose with the back of his hand. "Thank you for telling me about her."

"Thank you for asking."

Their eyes remain connected, it feels almost magical. With the engulfing dark sky high above, dimming around them, Louis feels magical.

"I read a poem earlier. Reminded me of us," Louis explains after they take a few minutes for composure.

(Harry had wiped away his tears. His skin also looks a lot more lively. Louis just smiled and let his heart rate drop back down to normal. Granted, it was difficult with Harry sitting right next to him.)

"Go on, share it with the class," Harry grins, his eyes are puffy and bright. It's endearing.

"Alright, no pressure." He clears his throat and sits up straight.

" _The problem with the world is that the intelligent people are full of doubts and the stupid ones are full of confidence_."

"I see. Is that Charles Bukowski?" Harry asks, smile tainted with astonishment.

Louis nods proudly. "Uh-huh. I knew you'd be a fan of his."

"Yeah, right," he scoffs. "I bet it was a guess. It was probably the first one you saw, huh?"

"Oh, shut up for once. Focus on the principle, Curly. The point is, you're the intelligent one and I'm the stupid bastard who's too confident."

"Well that's bullshit," Harry grins.

"I'm confident!"

"Yes, to an extent. But you're also extremely clever, and doubtful. We're both the intelligent ones," Harry smiles. "Yeah?"

"Ugh, fine," Louis sighs, grinning.

"Wanna grab a hot chocolate?" the younger boy suggests. Louis springs to his feet.

"You are most definitely intelligent, Harry Styles." He extends his arm and offers his hand. "Let's."

Harry glances down and slides his palm into Louis' and interlocking their fingers with a tight seal that can only resemble trust. "Let's."

**

It's Louis' birthday. And it's Wednesday morning.

Meaning, it's also Christmas Eve.

There's a thin sheet of snow covering the front lawn and back garden of Louis' home. It's extremely bright outside, with a white and chalky sky, enlivening the area completely. It's difficult, not going to the park everyday. It isn't far from here, only half an hour, but his flat is a lot closer than his family home. So Louis vowed to stay at home for his time away. Being with his sisters helps him feel close to his mum anyway.

Louis woke up to his little sisters charging into his room and jumping up and down his bed. They shook him and forced him to wake up. He laughed and picked them up, playfully whacking them and chasing them down the stairs with a bright smiling.

They gathered in the living room. His presents were placed on the carpet and his aunt and uncle watched happily as he opened them up one by one. Fizzy bought him a pair of ankle socks, the back of them spelt out the words, 'fuck off.' Supposedly, she'd got them because she said they'd suit his favourite vans. Louis loved it, of course, they were hilarious. The twins got him some chocolate, a share box to be exact, he does love chocolate. And finally, Lottie got him a brand new hoodie. It was an Adidas one, dark green with yellow text. He was happy to see it was in a slightly larger size, too. It looked warm and cosy and he absolutely adored it. He smothered every one of them with grateful and loving kisses. He also thanked his aunt for the money she gave him, as she weren't sure what he actually wanted. It was sweet.

Later that day, the kids are wrapped up in their Christmas pyjamas and tucked under fluffy blankets on the couch. Louis' sitting in the armchair nearby with a freshly made hot chocolate by his side. Faint snow is falling from the night sky outside, clinging to the windows. The fireplace crackles gently, merging with the distant mumbles and quiet blaring of the telly in the background. He's scrolling through his phone, replying to the many birthday messages he'd received. The boys have agreed to treat him to endless amounts of drinks on their next night out and Louis can never refuse free booze.

So, here he is. Watching a random video titled 'Five minute life hacks to help improve packing for your next summer holiday!' on Instagram when his phone abruptly buzzes.

' _Happy Birthday, Louis Tomlinson. Have a great day and Merry Christmas Eve._ '

He smiles idly when another buzz comes through.

'' _Find what you love and let it kill you'._ '

And what ever could that mean? Louis' no master at solving riddles. He figures it's another Bukowski quote, though he has no intention of checking. His heart's already fluttering at the idea that Harry had thought about him and handpicked this poem just to send it to him.

In response, Louis merely sends an emoji of a star and flinches when his sister Phoebe lands directly on his lap, pleading for him to braid her hair.

He only smiles, lifting her up and sitting them both down on the floor. He takes the pink hair tie from her wrist and begins braiding with a fond smile on his lips. Christmas is a time to celebrate, always. 

**

"Tommo's back!" Niall shouts, running forward and wrapping Louis up in his big arms.

It's Thursday afternoon.

Louis writhes and struggles for air. "Yes, yes. Here I am. Now get off me, you gremlin."

"No, I missed you!" Niall pouts, ruffling up Louis' fringe with his hand and grinning.

"You're suffocating him," Zayn says as he joins in the hallway of Niall's flat. He flashes a sympathetic smile to Louis. "Did you have a good time?"

Louis nods. "A great one. Christmas was brill, got really smashed. What about you?"

"I got stoned, so."

"You always get stoned," Louis grins.

"And?" Zayn smirks, pulling him into his embrace. He smells like dark oak and cinnamon, it tickles Louis' nose.

"My turn," Liam announces, his hair isn't pulled up into a quiff today. It's flat and fluffy, due to its length, it's grown a little wavy as well. Liam looks good, very cuddly. "Missed you, Lou."

Louis rolls his eyes and wraps his arms around the boy's waist, squeezing him tightly and chuckling when he lets out a helpless choking sound. "Missed you more." They pull apart and Louis can only smile more. "You lot are a bunch of saps."

"Yeah, yeah," Niall huffs, walking back into the lounge. They all follow him and sit down. "You excited for tonight?"

"Always up for a party, Nialler. You know this."

"I know, Lou. I'm buzzin' me self. But Liam, here, says he doesn't want to drink at all."

"You're kidding?" Louis turns to face said boy with wide-set eyes. "It's New Years Eve mate! You have to get shit faced with us. Even Zayn's drinking."

"Hey! I drink with you guys. Plenty."

"No," Niall interjects. "You take one shot and fuck off somewhere unknown. You'll disappear one night and show up the next morning with the wildest stories to tell."

Zayn smirks. "Not my fault guys bore me sometimes."

"Fuck off," Niall kicks him. "I'm never boring."

"Lads," Louis groans.

"I'm still hungover, Lou," Liam finally explains. "Went out last night, only got back this morning."

"That's right. Liam hooked up with someone."

Louis turns his head to see Niall grinning at Liam, whose eyebrows are pulled together crossly.

"You. Had a one night stand. Fuck. Right. Off." See, he was right. A terrible track record.

"Uh-huh. She was proper fit as well."

"Shut the fuck up, Niall. You're doing my head in," Liam groans, rubbing his temples tiredly. "I'm staying in tonight. I don't care."

"Wait, no. You're not coming out at all?" Louis asks.

"I'm deadbeat. Sorry."

"Zayn's right," he huffs. "You are boring."

"He is. I'm not."

"Niall, you're doing my head in now. And I've only been here two minutes."

"Bloody hell, man. Why does Harry even like you?!" Niall groans, falling back on the small sofa. He rolls onto his belly and nuzzles his cheek into the cushion underneath his head.

"What do you mean?" Louis says, surprised.

"Styles is tagging along with us later," Zayn explains whilst looking at Louis from across the room. "He asked Niall if you were coming and wondered if he could come too. He's got a pretty big crush on you," the raven-haired boy grins.

"Funny," Louis huffs, ignoring the hasty comments being thrown his way. "Where are we even going?"

"Frat party, round the corner. They'll have plenty of booze. The people that live there are in my classes, so. They're nice."

"I should be concerned but I'm shattered from the drive here," Louis says. "I'm going home for a bit. I'll be here at... Wait, what time?"

"Seven."

Louis opens the front door, his voice echoes from the hallway and fills the flat triumphantly. "I'll be here at eight!"

**

Deciding to visit his spot for a little bit, Louis stopped by the lake for around half an hour. Harry wasn't there but he figured he was getting ready for the party.

Louis told the sky about Christmas. He told his mum about the girls and how much happier they seem. He told her he needed the time away, it was really good and reminded him of the people he loved infinitely. He brought up the texts from Harry, they may have conversed more than once over the days. Louis may or may not have also memorised every text Harry had sent him. It wasn't intentional or anything. But yeah, he told her.

Now though, he's at the party.

It's filled to the brim with random faces and endless bottles of liquor. Sadly, it's very cold outside and Louis could feel Winter through his new hoodie even though it's by far the softest and warmest thing he's ever worn. Zayn disappeared long ago, as expected. He found a new friend and slid away into the shadows. Niall had already left for the party when Louis had arrived at his flat. (At eight, like promised.) His friend supposedly got impatient and couldn't be bothered to 'wait any longer', but Liam stayed back and waited for Louis. They walked around to this place together.

So now, Louis is currently upstairs, wandering drunkenly about the landing and snooping through the many rooms of the building. He keeps bumping into strangers and giggling because he's just so bubbly tonight. It is a new year soon. A new time to try. He's going to be open and honest and he's going to try. With the addition of a new friend, too. Speaking of which, where actually is Harry?

"Curly!" Louis shouts, scanning the busy house. "Curly Styles? Mr Curly? Harold, Harry, green-eyed, frog-looking Styles! Hellooo!"

"Louis?"

He flinches, spinning around on the spot and gaping. "Curly!" he yells.

Without thinking, Louis runs over to Harry and wraps his arms around the boy's shoulders. He stands on his tiptoes and his nose brushes against the warm, silky skin of Harry's neck.

"Where've you been?" he asks him. The words merge together in one single utterance.

Harry's hands lock onto his waist in the hug and he pulls Louis back to look at him. "Been around. You okay?"

"Yes! Of course I'm okay, dafty. Why? Are you?" he mumbles, searching the miraculous green irises in front of him. They're too dim. Wrong. "You seem off, Curly. You have a glum face. Are you sad? Please don't be. I'm happy tonight and you must be happy with me."

"I _must_ be?" Harry smiles faintly.

"Yes."

"Well, I was feeling a little sad. It was my first Christmas without my dad but in all honesty, it wasn't too bad. I'm okay. Especially now that you're here," he grins.

"Ah. How you spoil me with compliments," Louis sighs. "Are you intoxicated?"

Harry tilts his head. "Huh?"

"Are. You. Intoxicated? Are you drunk? You cannot be sober. It's forbidden."

"I'm partially intoxicated, Lou." _Lou_. "But I will drink more if that'll satisfy you."

"C'mon then."

Louis takes his hand and pulls him down the stairs. They find an open bottle of Sambuca and a couple of unused shot glasses mixed in with a sea of party poppers and glitter.

Exchanging a look of anticipation, they both smile and take the drink in one gulp. It burns Louis' throat, although, judging by the way Harry's nose scrunches up and his body caves in, it burns his throat a lot more.

They repeat the action many times, eventually they end up drinking directly from the bottle somewhere upstairs again. The two of them are laying on the ground, backs pressed onto the carpet. Harry's curls keep tickling Louis' ear whenever he breathes in or moves an inch, even if it's only for a split second. It feels like a fresh flame is igniting all of his nerves. Or maybe that's just because he's drunk.

"It's nearly Midnight," Harry mutters, eyes closed and lips curved. He looks like artwork. His skin is dewy from the heat and light layer of sweat that's built up throughout the evening, his curls are shooting off in different directions and yet they've never looked prettier.

"Yeah," Louis says, breathless. And his eyes are wide open. He could never have them closed with Harry nearby; it'd be wasteful to look at anything other than him.

"Can you hear that? I love this song," the boy says, his voice is slow and gradual as he refers to the music that can be heard from downstairs.

'Classic' by Mkto has just started playing. Louis thinks Niall must've gotten a hold of the speakers. He grins. "Me too... Hey! Mmmmm Hmmhmm."

Harry's eyes flicker open and they lock onto him, all amused and intrigued.

"This world might've gone crazy!"

The boy's laughter only adds to the scene when Louis places his hand on the his bicep and shakes him gently.

"The way you saved me, who could blame you?" He taps Harry's nose with a quiet "boop" and beams. "I just wanna make ya smile."

"Stop it, Lou," Harry groans but his simper doesn't fall.

Louis cups his cheek and shouts the words, "I wanna thrill you like Michael!"

Harry rolls his eyes.

"I wanna kiss you like Prince!"

Counting begins to echo from below. But Louis' on a roll, he can't stop now.

"Let's get it on like Marvin Gaye—"

"Eleven, ten, nine, eight—"

"Louissss! We need to go!" Harry tries to pull him up but struggles. They're both far too drunk for this.

"Like Hathaway!—"

Harry gets a firm grip on Louis' wrist and yanks him to his feet. He sways for a second, finding balance when he clutches Harry's forearms and smiles.

"Five, four, three—"

"Write a song for you just like th—"

"Shut up," Harry says. Then he surges forward to press his lips to Louis'.

The universe shudders and the music dies out.

Bewildered, Louis pulls himself out of a frozen state and jumps up high onto his tiptoes. He swings his arms around Harry's neck and sinks his fingers into the soft hair there. Contently, he sighs against the boy's plush lips, moaning softly as Harry pulls him closer by the waist. Their lips glide together sweetly, tongues sweeping in a swirl of dizziness and delight. Booze and brilliance. Wonder and warmth. Harry hums, inhaling Louis' sent and sending them both into a trance. Minutes trickle by and Louis can finally hear the music again. " _Living in a world gone plastic_..."

He sings against Harry's lips, "Baby, you're so classic."

Harry laughs and they kiss until dawn sets off. 

**

Shit.

Nearly a week has flown by and Louis hasn't visited the lake once. It's Thursday now. He hasn't been to see his mum since New Year's eve. He thinks he should feel guilty for not seeing her. It's just. He hasn't really felt the need to as much. Since last Friday, his brain has been nothing by mush. You see, Louis doesn't handle feelings well at all. He's terrible with them. Being open was hard enough and he's already struggling to maintain that resolution when talking to the boys about simple things like when he gets sad and... shit.

Anyway, feelings involve commitment. They involve trust—that doesn't mean Louis doesn't trust his feelings—but he doesn't trust how they make him act.

There are endless possibilities that can occur when giving into one's feelings. It brings along a lot of uncertainty. It's bloody terrifying and Louis' never let himself feel for somebody properly. Ever. He's never been able to really. He was so internally conflicted, it wouldn't be right to bring somebody else into that picture.

Except. Now he's met somebody else. And he'd really liked them to be in the picture. Yet, he doesn't know how to let them in. He's not sure it's even possible.

Harry hasn't texted Louis since they kissed. Louis sort of left the second Harry had drifted to sleep in the hallway they were sitting in. He grabbed a pillow off of somebody's bed and a blanket, tucked Harry up and left. He got scared.

What if he can't be the person Harry desires? Or even, the person he needs. What if he can't imagine Harry even being his? He's not sure it's even possible.

The sky's dimming out like a flickering lightbulb. Clouds of grey and dingy hues sabotage the milky above. The body of water in front of him is frozen, solid, entirely still now. Everything is still as it seems nobody else but Louis is actually here. There are no ducks, pigeons or squirrels in sight. The arched trees towering over the outskirts of the park are bare and leafless. He's alone. Just like he used to be, all of the time. It feels unnerving.

Louis traces the sketches he'd drawn on his white vans with his finger and sighs.

"I'm not sure why things are so difficult for me, mum. It's not like I try and make things harder. Really. I do like him, I like him a whole lot. And yet... everything in my mind is screaming at me to run away. To never speak to him again and vanish from the face of the Earth... Who—who the hell tells them self that? Surely, someone in their right mind would grasp onto the person they care for and never let them go? Even if it's not what that person needs. I don't know. People are selfish and they keep what they know is good for them, regardless of the consequences. Don't they?"

Damn it, silence. Even the wind's left him solum.

"I'm not good for him, mum. He doesn't need my pessimistic views in his life. He's already been through enough."

Louis waits for a response. He tries and relies on his patience for something to reply. He nearly gives up at one point. Then he hears a voice. _That_ voice.

"You don't get to decide that."

He turns his head and breathes out feeling woozy.

There he is. Harry. Curly. The one who's shown Louis it's okay to wake up from your nightmares, it's okay to deal with your sadness and it's okay to let your sadness deal with you.

"I'm sorry."

"Is this going to be regular thing? You apologising all the time."

"N—I don't know." Harry looks so upset. Louis hates that _he_ did that to him.

"I thought you were going to be more open," Harry says. He starts walking over to Louis' bench, which is a good sign, it's a really good sign. He's staying. At least for a while.

Louis really needs to stop fucking up. He hates the way Harry's avoiding his gaze. "I was—I _am_. I'm sorry, Harry. Seriously, I'm not very good at this."

He can sort this out with Harry, hopefully. They'll go back to being friends and maybe things will go back to normal. He just needs to explain himself.

"What happened at the party... It wasn't a good idea." Harry's eyebrows fall and he turns to face Louis at last. "It can't have meant anything, Harry. For your sake more than mine."

"That sounds like a load of crap," Harry scoffs, his face tightens and resembles a scowl—one similar to the one he was wearing the first time Louis met him—it's harsh and cold, unwelcoming.

"I'm being serious. I want it to mean something but it just wouldn't be right. You deserve better."

"Oh my god," Harry laughs. "This sounds rehearsed. Have you rehearsed this?"

Louis blinks.

"Why are you telling me what I deserve, Louis? Since when is that something you get to decide? I do wish you'd stop acting so bloody programmed all the time. Everything you say and do is like an option for you. It's never free-flowing. You pre-plan everything."

"What are you saying?" Louis voice flattens out and he frowns.

"I'm saying what you're telling me is a load of bollocks. You're being stubborn and blind. I think what happened on Friday scared you," Harry's eyes don't drift from his at all. "You felt something more than what you're used to, you couldn't control it and that scared you. Christ, it must've scared you a whole lot, 'cause you didn't show up here once... I came everyday. You weren't here all week. Not until today."

"That doesn't mean anything."

"Are you kidding me? Fucking hell. Louis, you told me yourself how much this place means to you. If I've affected that please just be honest with me. I won't show up here. I won't intrude and I won't invade your plans with Niall and your other friends. I will let your life go by as if I never came into it. If that's what you want," Harry says.

"But only if that's what you truly want, not what you _think_ should happen."

"Harry—"

"No, Louis. Tell me. Because I can't take it anymore. When I came to this bench, here," he sits back and sighs. "I found it to be so peaceful. It felt ethereal. I'm sure you know how fictional it can seem. Like a scene from a storybook. I was obsessed. The next time I visited, I vented and I let out all of my emotion and baggage that I'd built up and it was marvellous—a feeling I'll never forget."

Louis watches him wordlessly. He focuses on the way Harry's lips curl and how the rosey tip of his nose moves with each syllable he speaks.

"And when you found me it was unexpected. I didn't have a set time in the day when I'd come here. It was just whenever I felt like it. So when you saw me, it was just a really strange coincidence. You were rude and defensive and you wanted me gone. Of course, that only pissed me off even more because I wanted to be alone just as much as you did. Now, I know that wasn't your only reasoning.

... A few days went by and I couldn't help but keep coming here. You and I started to talk a bit more and that one day, when I caught you crying. It was something so strange to see—you were strong and feisty the first time we spoke—I just didn't expect it. I knew you were enigmatic the second we locked eyes, but. You spoke to the sky so passionately, it was beautiful. You had secrets that were dark and concealed and you were so pained and so beautiful. You finally lowered your guard with me and we connected. You must've felt it, too. It was mental, really. I'd fallen so quickly, Louis. We've barely known each other for even a month and yet, I'm sure what I feel for you is stronger than anything I knew I could feel."

Louis' head drops and he plays with the sleeve of his green hoodie.

"I know you felt something as well, Lou. You always look at me like. Like I'm glowing. And you're stuck in the dark and you need light. It's like I'm the light you're searching for. It's crazy and terrifying but exhilarating and I feel it, too."

"Harry—"

"Stop it, God. I've been patient with you. I have and I wasn't going to push you. But this is something I won't wait for. You can't get rid of me because of this. Just tell me what you're so fucking afraid of," Harry pleas, his voice breaks mid-sentence and his shoulders deflate.

Louis can't even breathe, it feels like.

"Do you think it's... Do you think you love me?"

Harry's eyes scrunch shut. "I know I do."

Louis turns to the water and clutches his jumper tightly. "That's not good."

"But why!" Harry snaps. It surprises Louis and he jolts back, his eyes are bulging, his chest rises and falls. “Tell me why, Louis. _Please_."

"I—Harry. It's not fair, okay?" he shakes his head angrily. "You can't. 'Cause... People only love for something in return."

He isn't prepared for Harry to talk again. "What? Like for money? Gratification?" he muses sardonically.

Louis rolls his eyes. "Now you're getting it."

"Seriously?? That's not true, I—you really don't believe in love?"

"Don't think it exists anymore."

"Oh."

Louis turns to him, but Harry's looking elsewhere. He's only met with a series of messy curls. "Do you?"

"Huh?" Harry spins around and their eyes meet. Butterflies soar and stars tingle. Even in the midst of terror.

"Do you believe in it?" he repeats.

"I _feel_ it, Louis. I agree that it's rare but it does exist. I know that because I feel it for you. So you're wrong about it," Harry argues, narrowing his eyes.

"No, I'm not," Louis grits through his teeth. "Love is so longed for that it only ends up becoming a tragedy for people. It never lives up to their expectations. It doesn't fucking exist."

"It's not a tragedy, Jesus Christ. We were born to love."

"Well then, if that's the case then why's it so bloody hard?" Louis snaps. He feels like he could explode.

"It isn't! What about your sisters? You love them."

Louis laughs, unamused. "I'm talking about being _in love_ , idiot."

"So is this because of your dad, then? Because he left your mum."

"No, don't talk about him," Louis warns. His father does not get to be a apart of this conversation. "And don't even think of talking about her again, either."

"Wh—what? My God," Harry sighs. "I know why you're acting this way. It's because of Friday, yeah? It did scare you and now you're in denial."

"DON'T," Louis shouts louder than he's ever shouted before. "Don't you dare say that to me. You don't know shit!"

"I know you," Harry says quietly. His voice is suddenly trepidatious. He resembles a small child, just like he had once weeks ago, frightened and vulnerable. It's not right. And silence attempts to dominate the scene but Louis beats it. He looks at Harry and pretends to feel okay. His voice is blank and empty when he speaks.

“I am sorry, Curly. I just. You're so pure and you always search for the good in the world. Though this isn't something we can agree on. You believe love exists and that's alright, but I don't—I will never, probably, and it's a shame. I wanted us to be friends again. Like before. But what you're saying about being in love with me isn't real, mate. It's crap."

Harry stands up.

"You're so stubborn, Louis. You need to wake up and stop with this self-sabotaging shit. You need to stop telling yourself that what you feel isn't right and that you don't deserve to feel like everybody else." Momentarily, Harry's eyes linger before he decides to turn around.

"You may be sorry, but I'm not."

He walks away and Louis watches with glossy eyes while his figure fades into the distance, engulfed by the crooked tree branches and foggy Winter air.

**

Starting back at Uni is inevitably draining. Classes are long and Louis has spent most of them daydreaming. He's barely got any motivation to complete his work and he isn't hungry ever, his appetite has vanished. Sleep has been difficult as well.

Every single day Louis goes to the lake. Just like he normally would. And every single time he sits there alone. Harry doesn't show up once. It's been nearly three weeks since they last spoke. He just feels so glacial and hollow. He feels filthy, tainted with guilt and discomfort. His chest is weighty and he misses Harry so much that it's agonising.

After his argument with Harry, Louis ran from the park and knocked on Liam's door with such panic.

The brown-eyed boy asked him what had happened. For once, Louis explained the entire thing. He told Liam he was an arse to Harry, he explained how he was self-involved and inconsiderate. He cried and he wept and he felt so awful because it was eating him alive.

"He has a point," Liam had said, standing across from Louis who was sitting on the bed. "It is self-sabotage."

"Li... I don't know how to act any different. This is how I am. This is how I think. How can I stop that?"

"Change," his best friend said. "Change how you think."

"You say that like it's so simple," Louis murmured through his watery eyes.

"It is, Lou. C'mon, man. Sometimes you need to give in. Just stop running away. Have you even asked yourself how you feel?"

"I—no, I guess I haven't."

"Okay. Do it now. Do you care for Harry?"

Louis surprisingly didn't hesitate when he answered, "Yes. A lot."

"Do you think it's more than that?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe?"

Liam sighed. "On New Years, when you two kissed, was it different?"

"How so?"

"Jesus, you gonna make me explain everything?" he laughed. "Did it feel electrifying? Magical? Like you were floating?"

"You forget how drunk we were."

"See you're doing it again. Stop excusing everything and give in. Was. It. More?"

"Yes," he answered quickly. "I know it was. But that can't mean anything special. Surely it can't. It was a kiss, Liam. I'm attracted to Harry, of course it felt good."

"You really don't get it, do you?"

Louis shrugged.

"I've seen the way you look at him, Lou. God, you practically glow. It is more than what you think it is. You've never looked at me that way, or Niall, or Zayn. You constantly look at Harry whenever he's around. You laugh at every joke he makes, blush with every glance he gives you. It's so bloody obvious. I can't believe you don't see it."

Was it true? He never realised he'd acted that way. It was all new information to Louis. Entirely.

"You're a brave guy, man. I know you are. But you're your biggest enemy. I'm glad you're finally opening up to us but when you wouldn't in the past, I saw how bad it would get for you. You'd feel so sorry for yourself and I don't mean that in a patronising way; grief takes a different form for everyone. But it isn't fair to let it control your life. You've done that for so long now. You live by your happiness. You wake up and decide how you feel and how you will live depending on that. It's so fucked, mate. You're breaking your own heart. And I'm tired of seeing you so down. When you were with Harry you didn't think about any of that. You didn't worry. You just lived."

Liam took a deep breath and walked over to his friend, kneeling down and placing his hands on Louis' knees.

"You've always wanted to be strong, yeah?" Louis nods. "Well. To be strong, you need to know when to be soft."

"Soft. I'm soft when I'm with Harry?"

"Mhm. You're you." Liam smiled.

That was it. That was when Louis realised he was wrong.

It was denial. And as much as he despises the word, it was true. He did love Harry. It had consumed him completely and he had no idea. That's the beauty of it all, right? It's unpredictable.

Louis panicked even more after his conversation with Liam.

He's let all of this time go by. He's let Harry go out and roam the streets blindly without knowing Louis does love him back. It's all so wrong.

**

It's late afternoon on Tuesday.

He needs to tell Harry the truth, that he was undoubtedly right. He needs to do it as soon as possible. Ever since Louis' mum had died he'd viewed the world in such an untrusting light. He'd appreciate the beauty of nature, he always has, but when he looked at it, it never felt real. As most things didn't. He lost a part of himself when she passed away—a part he's never really searched to get back—Harry showed him a glimpse of that missing piece. He showed Louis who he used to be and who he could be.

Love is a complicated thing. But one thing is for sure, certainly. It is _not_ a tragedy.

For instance, Louis would see couples clearly swept up in love's grasp and he'd feel sorry for them. Because he didn't _believe_. He couldn't feel love so he didn't think it existed. Simple as. However, now he knows why.

If you don't love yourself you won't recognise when somebody else does.

And Louis didn't love himself. He pitied and despised his life, it was one walking shit show and once day, a curly-haired boy pranced into it and sat right in _his_ spot. The boy was feisty and bold. He was a little broken, too, just like Louis. They both had their pasts and their faulty presents.

The boy taught Louis to not let his experiences defy him and he portrayed the world in such a wonderful way. He taught Louis so much.

Life is to be enjoyed not dwelled upon.

Life is to be loved and to be explored.

Life is to be _lived_ and never feared.

He wants it all. The good, the bad. The sad and the happy.

He wants it all.

Louis will amount to everything. Without another thought, he grabs his beaten Vans and hurries outside. He texts Niall and desperately hopes he'll respond in time. He knows roughly where Harry lives, but he needs a specific address.

As he's pacing relentlessly down the sidewalk of a busy road, he flinches when his phone chimes in his pocket. He pulls it out and sees a text.

Oh, he really does love Niall.

His feet pick up speed and he feels his legs cramp with each hurried pace. It's around the time of day when Louis would usually visit the lake by now. Not today, though. His mum would rather he went after love instead of stopping by for chat, so. He isn't going today.

People collide into his sides whilst he runs through the corridors of Harry's building. Louis' hair is windswept and his eyes are a little watery from the cold breeze. He catches his breath and comes to a sudden stop.

He's here. Louis braces himself, his limbs tighten and he sucks in a long breath that merely leaves him even more lightheaded. He knocks. Seconds tick by, each one setting his nerves off even more. Tick. Tick. Tick.

The doors opens.

"Louis?"

Dewy skin, rosey cheeks, pretty pink lips. A soft black t-shirt and joggers. Swirls of chocolate hair and ivory skin.

"Harry."

Blood-shot eyes.

"What are you doing here!" Louis is pulled forwards into the room.

Sprawled out on his bed and desk, the floor, there are beer bottles, cans of cider, an almost-empty bottle of vodka. Clothes have been tossed onto the floor, the bed sheets are scrambled and the curtains are sealed shut.

"Mate?" Louis turns around anxiously.

He sees Harry leaning against the door lightly, fighting to stand straight. His lips curl drunkenly as he starts to slip.

Louis frowns and bites back the tears that are forming. He walks over to Harry and takes a hold of his hand, bringing him to the bed. He moves the bottles and places them elsewhere, making space for Harry to sit down.

When he does, he sighs and looks down at the boy sadly. "What happened?"

Harry doesn't move aside from his gentle swaying. "Dad rung."

Louis' insides twist.

"Wants to see me. Wants to know what I'm up to."

"Curly—"

"Mum said he's not doing too well. He's—" Harry snorts. "He's become a drunk, apparently."

The irony hits like lightening. Harry must feel it crackle and strike from above.

"Couldn't go to the park, didn't want to vent this time," he continues. "Wanted to forget. I had for a bit, forgotten. Wasn't thinking about him as much lately." The light sniffle Harry exhales is muffled as he wipes his wet cheeks. "Went to the shop and bought a few drinks."

"I noticed," Louis says gingerly. "You've had all this?"

Harry nods. "Not all of it tonight. Dad rung on Friday." _Friday_.

Harry's been dealing with this, alone, for four days? He probably hasn't left the building. Louis' breaking apart. He's such a shit person.

"I should've been there. I should've been there when he called you."

Harry lies down on his bed. He doesn't lift the covers, he just lays back and breathes out delicately. "You shouldn't be here."

"I know."

"Why are you?"

"Had something to tell you," Louis admits. "I..." he bends down and picks up the bottles and any nearby rubbish. "I'm gonna put this in the bin and fetch you some water."

Harry sighs, his eyes flutter shut. "I'll be here."

**

It's hardly been ten minutes.

Louis comes back to Harry's room and closes the door. He lifts Harry's legs and tucks him under the covers. He adjusts the pillow and makes sure Harry's neck isn't positioned uncomfortably. He folds the clothes and places them in a pile at the end of the bed. He gets a glass of water and asks one of Harry's flatmates if they have any paracetamol. He leaves two pills on Harry's desk and sighs.

Predictably, Harry isn't a loud snorer. His tender puffs of air are almost inaudible. His eyelashes flutter and he doesn't toss or turn very often in his sleep. He looks peaceful.

Louis walks over and presses his lips to the boy's cheek. He runs his hand through the curls covering his forehead and brushes his fingers over his soft skin. He loves Harry so much.

He's prepared to wait. He'll help Harry as much as he can. Even though in his eyes, Harry's the strong one, the optimistic one. Albeit, he is still fragile and he is still hurting, Louis loves him and he'll do his best because that's what you do for the people you love. He's going to try.

"Rest up, Curly." He smiles, switches off the light and closes the door.

Maybe he'll go talk to the sky for a while. He can ask for its views on love, seeing as that's a reoccurring topic in his life now. He might grab a hot chocolate on the way, too. 

**

After last night, Louis went back to his room and finished his essay a week early. He cleaned and he sorted through all of the crap he's got lying about. He made himself a nice dinner—chicken wrapped in parma ham—watched telly for a bit and got an early night sleep.

Due to a new term beginning, Louis' lectures have been moved around and he's been given a new timetable, that means Tuesdays are free for him now. The morning was sunny when he woke up. Blunt sunlight forced its way through the thin curtains that covered Louis' window and he hopped out of bed with a patient smile.

Right now, it's the afternoon and Louis' sitting at his bench. He's got a half-eaten cheese sandwich and a packet of crisps by his side. The fog is fading out across the surface of the lake, sinking into the tall trees that circulate its border.

He had listened to some music earlier, sitting on his bench. (Louis put on 'Classic', just to reminisce on New Years Eve's events.) He also sketched and drew some funny cartoon animals in his notebook seeing as he'd been there for a good few hours.

Eventually, the clouds had dominated the sun and grey sabotaged the clear white above. The area around Louis is beginning to dim down majestically. He's thinking about what Harry had told him, about the lake resembling something out of a storybook. It really does. The park is so secluded. It's visited by many so frequently but for the majority of the time it's always quiet. The water will always ripple and the birds will play about and it's always so quiet. It's surreal.

"Louis," someone says.

It scares the living daylights out of him. Louis spins around so sharply he nearly slips. "Harry," he whispers. "You came."

The boy nods. He waits for a couple of seconds before heading over to the bench. He sits down next to Louis, leaving a generous gap between them both, he faces the water. Once again Louis is bewildered by Harry's features. They're flawless. Louis' so in love with them.

"How do you feel?" he asks Harry, skimming over the his figure. It's clear he's quite hungover, his under-eyes are dark and his curls are a bit deflated.

"What, mentally or physically?"

"Um. Both?"

Harry leans back on his hands. Louis does the same. "Physically, I feel like shit. It's mainly nausea now, although, I am glad you left me something to take when I woke up."

"I wanted to stay but I figured you'd want space."

Harry nods his head agreeably. "Yeah, about that..."

"Has anything else happened?"

"Erm," he plays with the rings on his fingers, twisting them nervously. "Mum called me this morning. She said Gem stopped by last night. She was already on her way there, to visit, apparently. When she found out what had happened, she snapped. She spoke to dad and had a proper go at him, called him out on his shit. She said he was a fuck up and that he was a terrible father. Then she told him off for the way he treated me, mum said she called him pathetic. Then she said he didn't deserve to have me as a son, Lou. Gemma told my dad he shouldn't have treated me the way that he did. And he just sat there—Mum said she'd never seen him so quiet—and as Gem caught her breath, he stood up, said he was sorry and he left. He took the rest of his stuff and left. For good."

"For good?"

"He's gone."

It's possible this may all be a dream. Louis might still be asleep.

"And you're okay with that?"

"You know, I think I'm more than okay with that."

Louis beams. He smiles so brightly, his lips curve from ear-to-ear. "That's great."

"Yeah."

He drops his head. "I'm—"

"Please don't say you’re sorry again."

"But I am. I am so badly, H," he sinks his fingers into his hair and pulls stressfully. "I'm so selfish. Everything you said to me was true, it shouldn't have taken me so long to realise. I should've known it from the start. I should've come to you sooner."

"You were pretty adamant you were never going to change your mind."

"You did say I was stubborn," he half-smiles.

Harry doesn't reciprocate it. "I can't sit around and wait for you to figure yourself out, Louis. I won't do that."

"You don't have to." He reaches out but pulls his hand away when Harry suddenly stands up. "God, this is so messed up. I really fucked you about. Shit," he says to himself.

"You're so confusing," Harry groans.

"I know."

"What was the reason you came to see me yesterday?"

"You know why."

"Say it."

"Okay." He takes a deep breath, jumps off his bench and paces over to Harry. Louis lightly grips the taller boy's wrist and looks up at him with a genuine, sunny smile. "Harry Styles, you emotionally mindfucked me," he laughs. "You challenged me and you questioned the way I viewed the world. I hated it because it wasn't what I was used to. Nobody likes change at first, right?"

"Where's this going?" Harry wonders, he doesn't pull his arm away though.

"I broke my rules for you. I let myself feel things, even though I told myself I didn't deserve to. I was so swept up in my own emotional crap that every choice I would make was only to protect my own heart."

"Okay."

He grins, shaking his head. Harry's extremely adorable when trying to remain serious. "You're more."

"More?"

"Mmhm. You're more," his thumb brushes over the hot skin of Harry's inner wrist. "It was different. I felt electrified when we kissed."

"What're you going on about?"

Louis chuckles. "When we kissed it felt different, I'd never experienced anything like it."

"So?"

"So. I'm saying that it's different because of how we feel. Because you..." Harry tries to walk away at his hesitance. Louis pulls him back. "You love me and I love you."

"Louis—"

"That's why. You make me soft and you make me live. You love me. And I love you because you're good, Harry. You're so beautiful and you're so kind, you're wonderful. Your mind is so bloody fascinating and it’s addictive and I just love you so fuckin' much... I want you in my life. For as long as I can keep you."

"It's," Harry looks elsewhere. "It feels like you're only telling me this because you don't want to lose me."

"That's not true."

"How do you know that?"

"You said it yourself! That I look at you like you glow."

Harry steps back and sighs. "I don't know if I can trust you again."

"No. Harry, please. I do. I really do love you. I was a prick and I hurt you and I completely understand if you don't want anything to do with me ever again, but—you _were right_."

 _It's now or nothing, mum. Wish me luck_.

"I should've realised it sooner. Maybe I've known for ages and I'm just that oblivious. Fuck, Harry. Nothing can excuse it. I know I don't deserve you. I really don't. You smile and laugh at all of my shitty jokes. You put up with my shit even though you probably shouldn't—"

Green meets blue.

"I want this. I want to be yours and I want you to be mine. I want to sit on my bench— _our bench_ —I want to sit on our bench and talk to the sky, together."

Harry's breathing hitches. He steps closer to Louis and tilts his head, his curls bounce radiantly. "Our bench?"

"Our bench," Louis confirms. "And our sky."

The boy's eyebrow lifts up. "You're serious, no playing about?"

"No playing about, I'm completely serious. I love you, Curly."

Harry snorts. He places his hands on Louis' waist and pulls him so their chests meet. "You've said that so many times in the past ten minutes."

Louis might cry. "Yeah," he grins. He wraps his arms around Harry's neck and leans in. "'Cause I mean it."

"Prove it."

Louis scoffs. "Did you not just hear my monologue?"

“You twat," he mumbles. "I really want to kiss you but I feel like it would be wrong with your mum watching."

"Okay, we might be taking this 'talking to the sky' thing a little too seriously."

"Are you... Wait, what?"

"My mum's up there but she isn't like, directly there, Harry. She listens when I talk to her, is all."

"Yeah?"

Louis rolls his eyes. He's fallen in love with a proper nutcase hasn't he?

"So... does that mean I can kiss you, then?"

"Idiot," Louis says, tugging Harry by his neck and pulling him down to connect their lips. He hums and brushes his lips against the Harry’s in such delight he feels like he's officially moved past flying. He's soaring.

Like the star he is, Louis is soaring through the sky.

Harry moans carelessly, disconnecting their lips so he can drag them along the prominent curve of Louis' jaw. He presses light, wet kisses onto the skin before lifting his head and planting one on the corner of Louis' mouth.

"I like love," Louis says, smitten and fluttery-eyed. He ruffles Harry's messy curls and kisses the tip of his nose fondly.

"I _love_ love," Harry returns with a grin, crashing their mouths together in a messy swirl of passion.

**

Happy day, it's Friday evening.

Dressed in his nicest jeans and his prettiest shirt, Louis is at the park—with Harry, sitting on their bench. It's freezing and most of the little creatures that usually pad about the water banks have vanished into the shadows. It's pretty much silent here.

They are on their way to Niall's because Harry, Zayn, Liam and he are all going to be drinking tonight. It'll be marvellous. But first, Louis and Harry wanted to nip over to the park. (Just because they could, obviously.)

So here they are. Fingers intertwined, Louis' head rests on Harry's shoulder and they look over the rippling water and elongated trees simultaneously. Mist simply masks everything in sight. It's a storybook setting and they're part of the narrative, it seems.

"I've got another poem for you," Harry says, lifting his head to kiss Louis' soft hair.

"Hmm, tell me it then." Louis doesn’t open his eyes, he just ravishes in Harry’s warmth. 

"Alright, ' _the very essence of romance is uncertainty_.'"

"Fitting," Louis giggles.

Harry huffs. "It's true though, innit?"

"You're so strange. Why do I even love you?" Louis asks jokingly. He nuzzles his face into Harry's neck and lets out a quiet noise that resembles a kitten-like purr.

"Because I'm a poem?" Harry guesses with a cocky smirk toying on his pink lips.

"Shut up," Louis can only groan.

"I'm teasing! It was romantic when you said that to me."

"You're not teasing. You're taking the piss."

"Nuh-uh. I'm a poem and you're a star. 

Louis grins. Too right. Get to know. 

They exchange heartwarming smiles and laugh after that. Louis kisses his poem and looks back at the water, at the moon and the sky—their sky. It's been a difficult journey. There's a lot more to come, but he's made it this far, so. Bring it on.

Louis owns the strength in his softness now.

He doesn't let his sadness consume him.

He lives, all because Curly taught him how to.

**Author's Note:**

> this may have been my favourite piece i've written yet.  
> thank u for giving this a read, i hope u liked it!!  
> kudos are really appreciated <3


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